


A Cord of Three Strands

by cindale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Friendship, Hogwarts Era, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: From Diagon Alley to Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-16
Updated: 2005-10-16
Packaged: 2018-10-27 10:17:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 135,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10807095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cindale/pseuds/cindale
Summary: According to the prophecy, Harry Potter must kill Voldemort to survive. During his final years at Hogwarts, Harry will train his body and mind to face the Dark Lord, but that will not be enough to defeat him. In the end, it will be the “…power the Dark Lord has not.” This mysterious power is more wonderful and terrible than death, human intelligence, or forces of nature. This is the power that will protect Harry. This is the power that will enable him to fulfill the prophecy.





	1. The Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

AUTHOR’S NOTES: First, I would like to thank my betas, Ginnysdarkside, Swishandflick (my newest beta), and Lady Jayne Paisley. You guys are wonderful, not just at catching errors and making suggestions, but also at boosting my confidence. I would also like to thank Swishandflick, Dethryl, and Lady Jayne Paisley for holding my hand while I tried desperately to come up with a decent summary for this story. Finally, I would like to thank all my LiveJournal friends for putting up with my whining regarding my anxiety about posting and for voting on my summary. This story is in no way related to my other fiction – it’s a totally separate entity.

 

 

A Cord of Three Strands

By Cindale

Chapter 1

“The Mirror”

 

 

“Though one may be overpowered,

two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”

Ecclesiastes 4:12

 

 

The Dursleys were completely quiet during the drive to their home. Harry sat in the back seat, pressed against the door, as far from his cousin Dudley as possible. He stared out the window, trying to make his mind blank to stem the threatening flood of emotions.

 

As soon as the car stopped in the driveway, Dudley wrenched open the door, threw Harry a terrified glance, and ran into the house as fast as his elephant-sized legs could carry him. As Harry started to open the door, his uncle Vernon said, “Boy, in the living room, now!”

 

Harry walked quickly into the house, bracing himself for the inevitable tirade against the menagerie of people who had met him at the train station. Vernon Dursley definitely didn’t approve of his kind in any case, but a woman with pink hair and a man with a magical glass eye were probably a little much for him to handle.

 

The Dursley’s house hadn’t changed at all; it was just as spotless and orderly as ever. Pictures of Dudley at various ages grinned at him from almost every surface in the living room. At least they were still, Muggle photos; Harry didn’t think he could stand the sight of his cousin winking and waving to him from wizard snapshots.

 

Harry’s uncle lumbered into the living room behind him, closely followed by his aunt Petunia, who seated herself primly on the sofa. Harry was surprised when the huge man said, “Have a seat,” almost politely, gesturing to the chair adjacent to the sofa. Sinking slowly into the chair, Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion at the thought of his uncle being anything but horrible to him. He was even more shocked at his uncle’s next words.

 

“Your headmaster – what’s his name – Dumblydorf – came to visit us last night.” Harry was too surprised to correct the name. “He said we were in danger from that Lord Voldything that’s after you.”

 

“Voldemort,” Petunia corrected quietly.

 

“Whatever,” Vernon said, waving a hand impatiently. “I asked him why he couldn’t just keep you at that crazy school of his, but he insisted that you would be safer here – something about your mother’s blood.” Vernon put his hands on his hips and leaned toward Harry. His voice became low and menacing. “I just want to make one thing clear. You’re only here because Petunia insisted we keep you.” He shot Harry’s aunt a hateful look. “I expect you to earn your keep around here doubly now that you’re putting my family in danger – is that clear?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled, still in shock.

 

Vernon must have expected Harry to protest, because the wind seemed to go out of his sails, and his voice returned to normal. “I’ll have a list of your chores ready in the morning, but you can start with cooking breakfast.” He turned abruptly and exited the room, leaving Harry and his aunt staring at each other.

 

“Well,” Aunt Petunia said briskly, standing and starting for the door, “you’d better get some rest – you’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

 

Harry put a hand on his aunt’s arm to stop her. “Aunt Petunia, what else did Professor Dumbledore say?”

 

Petunia glared at Harry’s hand on her arm, and he snatched it away. However, she stopped and stared out the window as if looking for answers in the darkening sky. “Please,” Harry begged.

 

His aunt shrugged. “He put us under the Fidelius Charm,” she said to the window. Harry couldn’t believe these words were rolling off his aunt’s tongue as if she had used them all her life. “I pointed out to him that it didn’t seem to work on James and Lily, but he assured us it would this time.”

 

Harry shook his head a little and managed to ask, “Who’s your Secret-Keeper?”

 

“He is - Dumbledore.”

 

“Then it will work. He’d die before he’d betray you.” Petunia turned to look at Harry and he could see the fear in her eyes. The words came out before he even thought, “Why are you letting me stay here?”

 

She turned away and bustled toward the door, pointedly ignoring his question. “He left you a letter – it’s on your bed.” Just as she left the room, she called over her shoulder, “We expect breakfast on the table promptly at seven o’clock.”

 

Harry sighed and headed out to the car to retrieve his trunk from the boot. Once he had lugged it up to his room and locked the door, he turned to the letter from Dumbledore.

 

_  
Dear Harry,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I feel I must apologize again for keeping you in the dark about certain aspects of your life. I hope that you can come to forgive me. I give you my word that I will inform you of any future events that affect or pertain to you._

_Now that the Ministry has been convinced of Voldemort’s return, we are certain that he will become more active. Therefore, I have taken additional precautions to safeguard you and your family. The Dursleys are under the Fidelius Charm when they are at home. This should allow them to continue with their normal life while being invisible to wizards. I have also added wards to their house to prohibit unauthorized Apparation and incoming Portkeys._

_Unfortunately, I must insist that you stay at the Dursleys for the entire summer. You must stay in the house or the garden at all times. I am sorry; I know you enjoy spending time with your friends, but it will be difficult to protect you if you are moved. I must also insist that you send or receive no owls this summer. I suggest you send Hedwig to Hogwarts so she can get some exercise; she will be in danger if you let her out at the Dursleys._

_I have obtained special permission from the Ministry to allow you to learn to Apparate, even though you are underage. I feel it could be an important skill for you to have in the days to come. Remus Lupin will be visiting you periodically to give you lessons. He will also be able to carry messages between you and your friends. You will need to insist he give you a password every time he arrives; we understand that Voldemort’s followers are making use of Polyjuice Potion. You and he can work out future passwords for yourselves, but the one for his first visit will be “Cockroach Cluster”._

_Thank you in advance for accepting these extra security measures, however uncomfortable they might make you. I look forward to seeing you in the fall._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,_

 

 

Harry stared at the letter in dismay. How was he supposed to survive the entire summer with the Dursleys? It appeared the only bright spot would be Lupin’s visits. He scanned the letter again, searching for the date of his first visit, which was not mentioned. Then he thought about the lunar calendar, and his heart sank when he realized the Full Moon was less than a week away. Lupin surely wouldn’t come until after he had recovered from his transformation.

 

He undressed slowly and crawled into bed, even though the hour was still early. For some reason he felt extremely weary, possibly because of the swirling emotions he had been suppressing all day. He lay staring at the ceiling for a long while, unable to relax, with the faces of Sirius and Lupin floating through his mind. Their expressions were both accusatory. He rolled into a fetal position, allowing the tears to leak into his pillow as he realized he had nothing to look forward to this summer. Even though he would pretend not to, Lupin would surely blame him for the death of his one remaining best friend. For the first time in his life, Harry dreaded facing his former teacher.

 

*******************

 

Harry was shocked when he answered the doorbell the next morning. He braced himself as he pictured Lupin’s tortured expression from his dreams, saying, “Harry, if you had just continued Occlumency … if you had just used the mirror … if you had just gone to Dumbledore sooner … if you just hadn’t been so sure you were right …”

 

“Harry?” said the corporeal Professor Lupin standing in front of him. “Can I come in?”

 

The teen shook his head to clear it and managed, “Yeah … sure,” as he moved aside. He studied Lupin’s expression as he moved past him. He didn’t look the least bit angry, tortured, or accusatory; in fact, he looked concerned.

 

“Who rang …?” asked Petunia as she came into the hall. She stopped suddenly when she saw Lupin; Harry thought she must recognize him as one of wizards who welcomed him at the train station.

 

“Aunt Petunia, this is Remus Lupin,” Harry said, gesturing. “Professor Lupin …”

 

“Remus,” Petunia said softly. “I-I’m sorry – I-I didn’t recognize you at the train station.”

 

Harry looked back and forth between them so quickly he thought his head might spin all the way around. His aunt had surprise in her eyes and a faint smile on her lips. Lupin was grinning broadly. “It’s okay, Petunia,” he said. “I’ve changed a lot.”

 

“Y-you two know each other?” Harry stammered.

 

His former professor clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Harry, will you excuse me for a moment? I need to talk to your aunt.”

 

“Sure,” he answered, searching the man’s face for answers, but his expression was unreadable. “I’ll be in the garden behind the house.”

 

Lupin gave his shoulder a squeeze and followed Petunia into the living room, shutting the door behind him. Harry stared at the closed door for a moment before he came to his senses and ran up the stairs two at a time. He flung open the lid of his trunk and rummaged until he found a rolled up Extendable Ear. He raced downstairs, stood next to the door to the living room, and watched the flesh-coloured thread snake under the door.

 

“… happened to you, Petunia?” Lupin was asking in a gentle voice. “You used to be so interested in magic, and now you hate it?”

 

“Well, it didn’t do Lily any good, did it? And now, look at Harry – having to hide from the same evil monster! Why shouldn’t I hate magic?”

 

“No, I don’t think that’s it at all. If that’s how you felt, you wouldn’t treat Harry so …”

 

“What are you accusing me of?” Harry did not need the Extendable Ear to hear that.

 

“Nothing – calm down. I haven’t heard Harry complain about you, but I get the impression he thinks you hate him. He stays away from here as much as possible, Petunia. You’ve got to admit that’s … unusual.”

 

Petunia didn’t answer, but Harry heard a small choking sound, which could have been a suppressed sob.

 

“It’s jealousy, isn’t it?” Lupin asked in his quiet way. “I saw the way you used to look at her. She could do magic, she had two handsome blokes fawning over her, and your parents doted on her.” Harry heard a sound like someone getting up from a chair and sitting again. “Petunia, you’ve got to let her go. Harry doesn’t deserve your bitterness. He’s a sensitive lad – he craves love and acceptance.”

 

Harry heard someone get up again and footsteps approaching the door. “I don’t think it’s any of your business, Remus. I think it’s time for you to leave.” Harry jerked the Extendable Ear out from under the door and ran for the garden, shoving it in his pocket as he went. He quickly kneeled in the flowerbed and began pulling weeds, his mind whirling from the conversation he had just overheard.

 

He heard Lupin walk out the back door and into the garden, but he waited until he spoke his name to stop weeding and turn around.

 

“Er,” Harry mumbled, rubbing his hands together to remove the dirt, “I think I’m supposed to ask you for the password.”

 

Lupin laughed lightly. “Cockroach cluster. But I think you should have asked before you let me in the house, don’t you?”

 

Harry blushed slightly. “Are we going to start Apparation lessons today?”

 

“No,” the older man answered. “I wanted to talk to you first. I imagine you’ve got some questions for me?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry acknowledged, standing up, “like how do you know Aunt Petunia?”

 

Lupin smiled and his eyes looked distant. “Sirius, James, and I visited the Evans a couple of times during hols.”

 

“Not Peter?”

 

“His parents wouldn’t let him visit a Muggle home.” Harry wondered about that for a moment, but Lupin broke into his thoughts, clearly wanting to change the subject. “Come on,” he said, jerking his head toward the garden bench. When they were seated, he asked, “Any other questions?”

 

Harry thought for a moment before speaking slowly. “I guess I want to know exactly what’s going on. What’s the Order doing? What’s Voldemort up to? Is the Ministry helping in the fight against Voldemort? Where are Ron and Hermione? Is Order Headquarters still at …” He broke off, unable to say Sirius’s name.

 

Lupin searched Harry’s face and seemed to come to a decision. “Voldemort and his followers have been quiet since the incident at the Department of Mysteries. We think the Ministry’s acknowledgement of his existence was unexpected and that the loss of several Death Eaters was a blow to them.”

 

“Won’t they just escape?” Harry asked in a bitter voice.

 

“I don’t think the Ministry will allow that again.” Lupin’s face turned grim. “If nothing else, Fudge is afraid – no, scared to death – of the negative public opinion he has received since he acknowledged Voldemort’s return. The Public believes he should have recognized it sooner.” Harry gave a derisive snort. Lupin continued, “The Order is finding it easier to recruit supporters now, of course. But our insiders in the Auror Department are keeping quiet about their membership for now.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Makes it easier to try to find Voldemort’s moles.”

 

Harry digested that information, and then another thought occurred to him. “Not that I’m complaining, but why are you being so open with me?”

 

“I’ve come to the conclusion that trying to protect you from information isn’t a good idea,” Lupin said hesitantly, obviously choosing his words carefully. He studied a spot on his trousers and said, “The reading of Sirius’s will is next week, and I’ll be named your guardian. W-we talked about it last year, j-just in case …” Lupin paused for a moment, drew in a deep breath, and looked at Harry. “I hope that’s okay with you.”

 

Harry stared at the shy look the older man was giving him for a moment as he swallowed the hard lump that was forming in his throat. It was ironic that Lupin was looking to him for acceptance when he felt that the man should be blaming him for Sirius’s death. Harry forced a small smile and nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak.

 

“You’ll have to stay with the Dursley’s, of course, for safety reasons,” Lupin continued. “But in the wizarding world I’ll be considered your legal guardian, and I feel you should be told everything you want to know.”

 

Harry nodded again and managed to mumble, “Thanks.”

 

“Do you still have the mirror Sirius gave you?”

 

Harry started; he had forgotten about the mirror. The weight of his guilty feelings suddenly seemed to crush him down and he leaned over, burying his face in his hands. If he had only used the mirror, Sirius would still be alive! Lupin should hate him, he probably did…

 

“Harry?” He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He scooted to the far side of the bench like a trapped animal and turned mortified eyes toward Lupin. But Lupin didn’t look accusatory, only concerned. He said, “I just wanted to let you know I have Sirius’s, and we can use them to communicate.”

 

Harry looked at his knees; he couldn’t stop the tears, and he didn’t want Lupin to see them. “No,” he finally managed, “it’s broken.” He suddenly felt the need to explain. “He gave it to me as we were going back to Hogwarts, so I couldn’t open it then, and I was afraid it was something that would lure him out of hiding, so I didn’t want to open it, and then I forgot about it, and I found it after he … was gone … and I was angry … and I … I broke it. I-I still have the … pieces.” He discretely wiped his face and looked at Lupin, his eyes begging him to understand, to forgive him.

 

The man’s eyes widened in comprehension and then settled into an expression Harry couldn’t read. “Harry,” he said firmly, “I don’t blame you. You can’t blame yourself. Sirius’s death was not your fault.”

 

Harry looked at his knees again and whispered, “Yes, it is. If I had used the mirror …”

 

“Then Sirius would have found another excuse to come out of hiding, or Voldemort would have found another way to expose him. Don’t blame yourself; blame Voldemort.”

 

Harry couldn’t speak, but Lupin’s words comforted him slightly. He heard Lupin slide closer to him and felt a hand on his shoulder. Harry relaxed a little at the fatherly gesture of comfort.

 

“Blame Voldemort,” Lupin repeated in a quiet voice. “Your anger against Voldemort could serve you well in the days to come.”

 

Harry raised his head slowly and met his gaze. He whispered, “I have to kill him,” but he realized Lupin already knew.

 

“But you don’t have to do it alone,” said Lupin, releasing his shoulder. “Professor Dumbledore and I have discussed it at length, and we agree that we should empower you instead of just protecting you. We’re working on ways for you to get extra training in magic, starting with Apparation lessons. We don’t plan for you to face him alone, or unprepared.”

 

It was amazing how much the former professor’s quiet words reassured Harry. He took a few deep breaths and found himself relaxing further. After a few moments, he repeated a question that hadn’t yet been answered. “Where are Ron and Hermione?”

 

“They’re both at home. I’ve told them both to send letters for you to Order Headquarters. I’ll bring them when I visit you. And you can send letters with me.”

 

“Are you staying at Si- … er … Order Headquarters?”

 

“Yes,” Lupin said, looking away, “but I need to find somewhere else to live. The house just isn’t the same since … it’s just too quiet.”

 

“How often can you come?” Harry asked, thinking how much he would look forward to Lupin’s visits.

 

“I should be able to come at least once a week, maybe more often. Dumbledore considers it an Order priority for you to learn to Apparate, and he’s trying to get special permission for you to do magic when you’re in the presence of an adult wizard. He wants you to practice hexes and defences later in the summer.”

 

Harry gave his first genuine smile in weeks. “Thanks, Professor Lupin.”

 

“Come on,” said Lupin, standing and jerking his head toward the house, “let’s see if we can fix that mirror.”

 

******************

 

The next few weeks were the most pleasant Harry had ever experienced at number four, Privet Drive, which, of course, was not saying much. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia ignored him except to give him orders; Dudley totally ignored him. His chores included cooking the meals, cleaning the loos, weeding and trimming the garden, washing the dishes, and doing the laundry. Most days he worked from dawn until dusk, but he did not mind much since it kept his thoughts away from unpleasant memories. In addition, with his body so utterly exhausted at the end of each day, he usually fell easily into dreamless sleep.

 

Remus came as often as he could, usually twice per week, but was careful not to fall into a regular pattern in case someone was watching the house. He always brought thick, informative letters from Ron and Hermione, and occasionally, to his surprise, letters from others, including Ginny, Neville, and Bill. Fred and George had even started sending him periodic financial reports about their Diagon Alley store, Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, since he had given them the money to start it.

 

His guardian had insisted that Harry call him by his first name, and Harry was struggling to comply. It was difficult to change the habit after three years, but he agreed it no longer made sense to address him as “Professor Lupin.”

 

Even though he talked to Remus through the mirror almost every day, Harry lived for his visits. It was bliss to be able to use magic and not have to pretend he was a Muggle, if only for a few hours. Harry was Apparating between his room and the garden after only two lessons, and during the fourth, he managed to Apparate to Mrs. Figg’s house. He begged Remus to let him Apparate to the Burrow to see Ron, but Dumbledore had left instructions that he not go any farther than Mrs. Figg’s. Harry felt obligated to comply since Dumbledore and Remus were being so forthcoming with information.

 

They also practiced hexes and defences. Remus drilled Harry on using magic to repel hexes, but also insisted he practice dodging spells without his wand. It seemed wise to be prepared for any situation.

 

Harry watched the Muggle news every day and devoured copies of the Daily Prophet that Remus brought him, but there continued to be no apparent Death Eater activity. It was tempting to be lulled into complacency.

 

One day toward the end of July, Remus showed up on the Dursley’s doorstep sporting a brand new shirt and slacks, a neat haircut, and sunglasses. Harry eyed him warily and asked for the password. Remus chuckled as he gave it, and Harry stepped aside to let him in.

 

“What’s with the new look?”

 

Remus laughed harder. “Well, you know Sirius divided his estate evenly between you and me …”

 

“Yeah,” Harry encouraged.

 

“Well, he specified that I couldn’t keep my half unless I spent one thousand Galleons on myself within two months of his death, and I’m not allowed to buy books.”

 

Harry joined in Remus’s laughter. “That sounds something Sirius would do! Having fun?”

 

“Actually, it’s been difficult. I’ve really gotten used to pinching Knuts. I’ve still got about nine hundred Galleons left to spend.”

 

Harry lost himself in pleasant thoughts of Sirius for a moment, and absentmindedly reached out his right hand to take the stack of letters Remus offered him. He snapped out of his reverie when Remus seized his wrist.

 

“What’s this?” Remus asked sharply, staring at the faint scars on the back of Harry’s hand.

 

Harry told Remus about his detentions with Professor Umbridge with his eyes lowered, unable to face the look of horror he knew would be on his guardian’s face.

 

When he finished, Remus was silent. Harry chanced a look up; Remus was obviously struggling with strong emotions. He finally managed, “Why didn’t you tell anyone about this?”

 

Harry inclined his head defiantly. “I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.”

 

“S-satisfaction?” Remus repeated in a loud voice. “You could have gotten her sacked and saved everyone a lot of trouble last year!”

 

Harry bowed his head and whispered, “I didn’t think of that.”

 

Remus sighed heavily, and spoke in a normal tone. “Look, Harry, you’ve got to think about how your actions affect the people around you.”

 

Now Harry began to get angry. “Don’t you think I do? That’s all I think about, Remus! I have to kill Voldemort! Me! Every person who gets hurt in this war, every person who dies, all of it is my fault because I haven’t killed him yet.”

 

Remus sat down heavily on the couch as if stunned by Harry’s tirade. After a moment, he quietly said, “Harry, don’t ever make the mistake of assuming you are alone in this.”

 

Harry looked up into his guardian’s eyes and marvelled at the love and concern he saw there. He walked over and joined him on the sofa, holding out his hand for the letters once again. But Remus grabbed his wrist, looked at it thoughtfully, and asked, “Were you the only one?”

 

“No. Lee Jordan had a similar detention with her, and I’d be surprised if there weren’t others.”

 

Remus nodded. “Umbridge is still Fudge’s Senior Undersecretary, even though she’s not at Hogwarts any more. I’m wondering if we could get the Daily Prophet to run an article about her abuse of students. I have to admit I would enjoy seeing her forced from office by public opinion.” Harry must have looked worried, because Remus hastened to say, “If we could get Lee to agree to an interview, and find out about other victims, it might be possible to use your story anonymously.”

 

“Just don’t get that foul Skeeter woman to do it.”

 

“Actually,” Remus said, tilting his head to the side, “Rita Skeeter’s rudeness and sarcasm might be perfect for this.” Remus released Harry’s arm and pushed his letters from his friends into his hand. “Ron mentioned something about birthday gifts for you, but I’ll have to bring them after your birthday. Sorry – you know the Full Moon is the 30th.”

 

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Harry said absently, flipping through his letters.

 

“I hope you’ve been reading your defensive magic book – I want you to try some new blocks today.”

 

**************************

 

Harry felt a little depressed on his birthday since Remus couldn’t visit him. He hadn’t even had the usual flurry of owls bearing gifts right after midnight. So unfortunately, his birthday was just another boring day in the Dursley household.

 

However, after dinner that night, Aunt Petunia surprised them all by producing a cake for pudding. It wasn’t decorated to be a birthday cake, but his aunt made a point of serving him the first and largest piece with a tiny smile, despite Uncle Vernon’s deep scowl.

 

After dinner, Harry retired to his room for the night and curled up on his bed with one of his defensive magic books. He was surprised by the timid knock on the door. “C-come in?”

 

Petunia opened the door quickly, peering behind her as if she was afraid of being caught. Harry sat up, hiding the book under the pillow instinctively. She closed the door behind her, crossed to the bed, and thrust a beautifully wrapped package into his hands. He stared at it for a moment and stammered, “Th-thank you.”

 

“Well, open it!” Petunia said sharply.

 

Harry opened the package reverently, revealing an old, dusty photo album. He looked at his aunt briefly with questioning eyes, opened the book, and gasped. Tears welled up in his eyes as he stared at the first page for a moment and then flipped quickly through the rest of the book. It was filled with pictures of his aunt and mother as little girls.

 

He looked at Petunia in disbelief. She clicked her tongue impatiently and said, “I’ve got plenty of other albums – my parents were a nightmare with the camera. You can have that one.” She turned abruptly and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

 

Harry stared at the door for a moment and then turned his attention to the album. He spent the next two hours carefully examining every picture, not bothering to check the tears running down his face. The girls were young; the pictures must have been taken before either of them was old enough for boarding school. Petunia was consistently taller, implying that she was a few years older than Lily. The album depicted the girls dressed up for Easter, on holidays at the beach, and decorating a huge Christmas tree, as well as doing every day activities such as baking cookies and playing with a cocker spaniel puppy. Harry devoured the image of his auburn-haired mother with his eyes. Even though the Muggle photographs were still, he could feel the love between the two sisters radiating from the pages, as well as the protective feelings of the older for the younger.

 

When the images began swimming before his eyes, he put the album carefully on his desk, undressed, and got into bed. He stared upward in the darkness, wondering what had happened to the sisters’ loving relationship. He finally fell into a sleep filled with the images of two girls, the shorter with red hair, and the taller with blonde.

 

The peaceful image of two girls running on the beach, hand in hand, was suddenly engulfed in flame. Harry slowly realized that it was not the beach that was burning, but a building, a very familiar building…

 

Harry struggled to wake up as he saw the Dark Mark in the sky above the flames and heard a familiar voice in his head singing, “Happy birthday, dear Harry, happy birthday to you…”

 

He awoke drenched in sweat and shouting. He sprang to his feet, threw the lid of his trunk open, and groped desperately for the mirror. When he found it, he screamed the name of his guardian repeatedly until he saw his face.

 

“Remus!” he shouted, not noticing the haggard look of the older man, “The Weasleys! The Burrow! It’s on fire! It’s burning! Do something!”


	2. Burning

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed! I have been overwhelmed by the response to this story. As always, thanks to my wonderful betas Ginnysdarkside, Swishandflick, and Lady Jayne Paisley. Also, thanks to Gianfar and JennyMalfoy (LJ buddies) for their support and kind words. Thanks also to Lisa and Monique of Checkmated for your kind words.

 

“Though one may be overpowered,

two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”

Ecclesiastes 4:12

 

 

“Remus!” Harry shouted into the mirror, not noticing the haggard look of the older man. “The Weasleys! The Burrow! It’s on fire! It’s burning! Do something!”

 

Remus seemed to snap out of a daze and said, “Hold on – I’ll contact Dumbledore.” His face disappeared from the mirror but Harry continued to stare at it, willing him to return.

 

A pounding on the door drew his attention away from the mirror. “Shut up in there, boy - you’ll wake the whole neighbourhood!” bellowed Uncle Vernon, ignoring the fact that he was being much louder. The door opened, and Aunt Petunia pushed by her husband to walk into the room. Vernon glared at the back of her head for a moment and then turned and lumbered down the hallway.

 

“What’s wrong?” Petunia asked in a sharp voice, an unreadable expression on her face.

 

Before Harry could answer, Remus’s voice spoke from the mirror. “Dumbledore said there was indeed a Death Eater attack planned for the Burrow tonight, but they were warned and moved to a safe place. Don’t worry, Harry. They’re okay.”

 

Harry nodded, struggling unsuccessfully to stop the tears running down his face. He finally choked out, “What about their house?”

 

“We don’t know yet,” Remus replied, shaking his head. “Listen, why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll be over to see you tomorrow and let you know what’s going on.”

 

“Thanks, Remus,” Harry whispered.

 

Harry put the mirror carefully on his desk and looked up, startled; he had forgotten that Aunt Petunia was standing there. To his surprise, her eyes seemed to express concern. “What is it, Harry?” she asked in a slightly more gentle voice than before.

 

He looked down and swiped at his eyes with his sleeve, wondering what to tell her. He finally decided on, “I-I have dreams … sometimes … of things that Voldemort’s doing.”

 

“Like a prediction?”

 

“No,” Harry answered with a shake of his head. He looked up at his aunt. “I dream them as they are happening.” He took a deep breath. “Tonight I dreamed the Weasley’s house was being destroyed.”

 

“Is that the red-haired family?” Petunia asked with a disgusted expression.

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, trying not to be annoyed; after all, Petunia’s experience with the Weasleys had not been pleasant. “Their son Ron is my best mate.”

 

“But they’re okay,” she said, the disgust fading and a hint of concern returning to her face.

 

“Remus said they were,” Harry said with a shrug.

 

Petunia continued to look at him for a moment and then asked, “Why do you have these dreams?”

 

“I’m connected to Voldemort by the scar he left when he tried to kill me as a baby,” Harry answered, staring at a bit of fluff on the floor. “I was taking lessons to try and stop the dreams, but I think Voldemort really wanted me to see what he did tonight.” As Harry tried to block the memory of the taunting voice out of his mind, tears welled up in his eyes again.

 

Petunia started to reach a hand toward him, but then stopped herself, turned abruptly, and started to leave the room. Just before closing the door behind her, she turned and said, “Try to get some sleep.”

 

Harry stared at the door for a few minutes and then lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in worry. There was no more sleep for him that night.

 

***************************

 

“I know it’s not pleasant, Harry, but you need to tell us exactly what you saw and heard in your dream last night,” Dumbledore said gently.

 

Harry took a deep breath and looked at the two men facing him across the Dursley’s kitchen table. Both were wearing very grave expressions. “Did Voldemort say anything to you?” Remus prompted.

 

“I was dreaming about my mum and Aunt Petunia as little girls, but then I started seeing flames. I realized it was the Burrow on fire, and I saw the Dark Mark overhead. Then I heard Voldemort singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me right before I woke up.”

 

Dumbledore and Remus exchanged a significant look. “That seems to confirm our suspicions,” said the Headmaster.

 

“What?” Harry demanded, looking from one to the other. They looked at Harry and then back at each other. “Come on, you told me you were going to start telling me things. What is it?”

 

“Severus seems to think the target of last night’s attack was not Arthur and Molly, or any of the Order members, as everyone will assume,” Remus told him. He paused and sighed heavily before continuing. “He’s fairly sure Voldemort was targeting Ron.”

 

Harry’s heart plummeted into his stomach. “Because of me?” he choked out.

 

“He is hoping that you will do something rash, Harry,” Dumbledore said in a quiet, calming voice.

 

“Because it worked before,” Harry said, tears springing to his eyes.

 

“But you can’t fall for it, Harry,” said Remus. “You have got to stay here. You know you’re not ready to face him yet.”

 

“But my friends…”

 

“Are safe,” Dumbledore interrupted. “The Weasleys will be staying at Order Headquarters, and I put Hermione and her parents under the Fidelius Charm this morning.”

 

Harry nodded, took a deep breath, and said, “Tell me what happened.”

 

The two men looked at each other again and then back at Harry. Dumbledore began, “Early yesterday morning, Professor Snape told me there was a Death Eater attack planned on the Weasley’s residence. I immediately contacted the Weasleys, and they went to visit Charlie in Romania. We needed to divert suspicion from Severus, and an impromptu vacation to visit a family member seemed the best option.”

 

“Are they still in Romania?”

 

“Yes, but they are coming back today.”

 

Harry nodded and forced himself to ask, “How bad is the Burrow?”

 

“Destroyed,” Remus answered with a heavy sigh. “I don’t think they’ll be able to salvage much at all. Since they were warned, they were able to take a few valuables, but if they had taken too much it would have aroused suspicion.”

 

“At least they’re all okay,” Harry said in a dead voice.

 

Remus and Dumbledore looked at each other again. Harry looked from one to the other, starting to get a little alarmed. “There’s something else – what?”

 

“We’ve got to tell him,” Remus prompted.

 

Dumbledore turned back to Harry with the weariest look he had ever seen. “Percy has been living in a flat in London, so we didn’t think it necessary to warn him. It would have been a risk, since we were uncertain of his loyalties.” Harry felt his stomach clench and the bile rising in his throat as Dumbledore paused and took a deep breath. “We found his body outside the house. It appears that he was hit with the Killing Curse.”

 

Harry stared at Dumbledore, fighting for control. He suddenly jumped up, knocking his chair to the floor, and ran down the hall to the bathroom, emptying his breakfast into the toilet. He retched a few times after his stomach was empty, and then as he started to relax he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up into Remus’s concerned face and slumped back against the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest. Remus sat down on the floor beside him and put a comforting arm around his shoulders. Harry couldn’t stop shaking, and his mind was empty except for the conviction that it was his fault Percy was dead.

 

He finally said it out loud, “He’s dead because of me.”

 

“It’s not your fault, Harry.”

 

“I have to kill him. I have to kill him now. More people will die.”

 

Remus turned Harry’s face toward him with his free hand. “Listen to me, Harry. You’re not ready to face him. If you try to kill him now, you’ll only be killed. And then where will we be? There’s no hope for any of us if you’re killed.”

 

“But people are dying!”

 

“Yes, that’s true. Some people may die while you’re preparing. But a lot more people will die if you face him before you’re ready, and you’re killed. I know it’s hard, and you need to grieve, but don’t feel guilty for something that’s not your fault. Feel angry at Voldemort instead, and let that anger motivate you to train your body and mind to face him.”

 

All Harry could think about was Mrs. Weasley’s boggart; her worst fear was losing one of her family members. Percy had always been nice to him before his career ambition had overruled his loyalty to his family, and Harry had certainly never wanted to see him dead. Despite the Weasley’s feud with Percy, he knew they would all be devastated at the loss.

 

Harry’s breath started coming in gasps and tears ran down his face. Remus put both arms around Harry and the boy buried his face in his guardian’s shoulder. Remus held him until the choking sobs started to slow and Harry pulled away.

 

He took a couple of deep breaths and asked, “What was Percy doing there?”

 

“We don’t know,” Remus said, shaking his head. “We may never know. I’d like to think he went to reconcile with Arthur and Molly.”

 

Harry nodded. It was a comforting thought, even though it was frustrating that he had chosen last night for a reunion.

 

A shadow fell across the doorway, and the Headmaster asked, “Harry, Remus, are you ready to continue our discussion?”

 

Remus helped Harry to his feet, and the two of them rejoined Dumbledore in the kitchen. Harry resumed his seat across from the Headmaster. Remus filled a glass with water and set it in front of Harry, who took a sip and gave his guardian a grateful look as he slid into the chair next to him.

 

“Harry,” Dumbledore began, “there are many things you need to do to prepare yourself to face Voldemort, but the most important is to continue to study Occlumency.”

 

“But Snape…”

 

“I have spoken with Professor Snape,” said Dumbledore, holding up his hands as if to push back Harry’s protests, “and he will continue your lessons. You will work out your differences with him, and you will commit yourself to learning Occlumency. It is crucial.”

 

“Can’t someone else teach me? You?”

 

The Headmaster gave a heavy sigh. “It’s true that I know Occlumency, but Professor Snape has used it much more extensively, especially against Voldemort. He is the best person to teach you. And there are other advantages to the two of you learning to work together.”

 

“I can’t imagine what,” Harry murmured under his breath. He noticed Dumbledore’s eyes growing impatient, so he quickly asked, “But isn’t it an advantage that I can see and feel what Voldemort’s doing?”

 

Remus spoke so quietly Harry had to lean toward him to hear. “Harry, the only time it’s helped was the incident with Arthur and the snake. You know as well as I do that you would have gone to the Burrow last night if you hadn’t been able to contact me, just like you did …” He broke off and turned away.

 

“Just like I ran off to the Ministry of Magic and got Sirius killed.” Harry looked down and tried to control the tears that were flooding his eyes.

 

“Harry, no one blames you for that, and you can’t blame yourself,” Remus said. “Voldemort tricked you. The point is that you’ve got to do what’s necessary to keep him from manipulating you again.”

 

“Without Occlumency,” put in Dumbledore, “all your training in hexes and shields is useless. Your mind must be under your control first and foremost.”

 

Harry sighed. He had to admit to himself that anything, even extra lessons with Snape, was worth gaining the ability to kill Voldemort. He felt a steely resolve snap into place as he looked up into Dumbledore’s expectant face. “Okay. When do I start?” Dumbledore’s features relaxed and Remus breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“You’ll have to wait until school starts,” said Remus. “Severus can’t be seen coming here.”

 

“But Professor Snape said that if you would practice clearing your mind of all thought and emotion before sleeping each night, it should make a remarkable difference in your lessons this fall,” said Dumbledore. “He suggested that you also practice at least one other time each day, if you can manage it.”

 

“Okay,” Harry said with a nod. He gave a snort. “I ought to be able to clear my mind when I’m doing chores – they don’t require any thought or emotion.”

 

Dumbledore stood and said, “Thank you for your cooperation, Harry. Remus, we need to meet the Weasleys.”

 

As the three reached the door, Aunt Petunia walked in bearing a sack of groceries. She shot a disapproving glare toward Dumbledore and Remus before looking at Harry. “There’s more groceries in the boot.”

 

“They were just leaving,” said Harry.

 

When she had disappeared into the kitchen, Remus shook Harry’s hand and said, “Practice. Do it for Percy, Sirius, and Cedric. I’ll see you soon.”

 

Harry nodded, unable to speak, as the men left.

 

***************************************************************

 

Harry read the letter of condolence he had just written to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, thinking how inadequate and unconvincing it sounded. The rubbish bin was spilling over with previous attempts. He looked up at Remus, who was bending over his shoulder. “What do you think?”

 

“I think it’s the best we can do,” his guardian answered with a heavy sigh. “There are just not adequate words in the English language.”

 

Harry rolled up the letter and handed it to Remus, along with a letter to Ron and a slip of parchment authorizing the transfer of funds from his Gringotts account. Then he went to his trunk and rummaged until he found the key to his vault.

 

“Do you think they’ll accept the money?” he asked Remus as he handed him the key.

 

Remus sat in the chair Harry had vacated, turning it away from the desk, as Harry sat down on his bed. “I don’t think they have much choice. They were left with almost nothing.” Remus put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “Listen, Harry, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

 

Harry felt a deep sense of foreboding; what else could go wrong? “What is it?”

 

“Voldemort didn’t believe the Weasleys suddenly went to visit Charlie. Arthur and Bill hadn’t given notice at work, and he has spies in the Ministry and at Gringotts. He knows someone warned them.”

 

Snape! As much as he hated the Potions Master and Order spy, he had no desire to see him dead. He started to speak, but then a sudden thought hit him. If Remus knew this, Snape must have been able to pass on the information…

 

“Is Snape…” he began.

 

“He’s fine,” Remus assured him. “Voldemort assumed Peter warned the Weasleys since he had a … er … history with them.” He took a deep breath and looked at Harry. “Peter’s dead.”

 

Harry wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He certainly wasn’t sorry that his parents’ betrayer was dead, but he still felt a vague sense of regret. Finally, he said, “Death is too easy for him.”

 

“Well, Severus enjoyed telling me all the details of how he was tortured before he was killed, and how his body is now on display as a warning to the other Death Eaters.” Remus looked a little queasy, but his eyes were hard. “He still had it much easier than Sirius, who lived in constant torture for twelve years, so it’s difficult to feel sorry for him.”

 

The two sat in silence for a few moments, each lost in their own dark thoughts. At last, Remus cleared his throat and said, “Ok, well, I’ve brought what I’m sure are your O.W.L. results.” He tossed an official-looking envelope from the Ministry of Magic into Harry’s lap.

 

Harry looked at Remus in confusion; he had forgotten all about his O.W.L.s, but now that he had been reminded, he couldn’t help wondering…

 

“Wasn’t I supposed to get these in July?”

 

“Yours were delayed in the Ministry,” Remus replied with a grimace. “It seems Umbridge tried to … er … influence your scores. Dumbledore had to get signed statements from each of your test examiners and take them to Fudge.”

 

Harry’s grateful feelings toward Dumbledore were overwhelmed by his anger and hatred toward Umbridge. “We need to get that cow out of office,” he spat.

 

“Yes,” agreed Remus, “but not yet. Dumbledore thinks a major upheaval at the Ministry right now would only be counterproductive. Despite Fudge’s recent incompetence, he’s useful for the present because he’s afraid not to do exactly what Dumbledore recommends. And, at least for now, Umbridge does whatever Fudge says.”

 

Harry nodded, feeling a little bewildered by the politics of the situation, and turned his attention to the envelope. He scanned the contents quickly, and his heart sank. Even though his scores were overall quite good, he had only managed a score of “Exceeds Expectations” in Potions. Snape would only accept students who had achieved “Outstanding” in his N.E.W.T. level class, and he wouldn’t be able to enter Auror training without advanced Potions. His mouth twisted a bit at the irony that he was disappointed to give up Potions.

 

His regret must have shown on his face, because Remus’s voice sounded cautious when he asked, “How did you do?” Harry shrugged and handed the parchment to Remus, who scanned it and then said, “Well, Harry, seven O.W.L.s is certainly nothing to be ashamed of – and most of them are “E’s”. And look at that – an “O” in Defence! Not that I would have expected any less from you.” As he gave the results back to Harry, he said, “Don’t worry about the Divination and History scores. I daresay you won’t be upset to give those up, anyway.” Harry looked up into the twinkling eyes and relaxed a little as the warmth he felt at Remus’s obvious pride in him overcame his disappointment in his Potions score.

 

“I wonder if Ron and Hermione got their scores yet. Neither of them has said anything about it.” Of course, his usual letter from Ron was missing in the batch Remus had brought this time, which was no surprise, given recent events.

 

“I’ll ask them if you want me to,” Remus offered. “But your Defence score reminds me of a couple of things I need to talk to you about. There were an unusually high number of “O” and “E” scores in Defence Against the Dark Arts this year. Umbridge tried to take credit for it, but Dumbledore knows where the credit truly lies.” He beamed at Harry, who felt a rush of pride. “Dumbledore wants you to continue the DA, if you’re willing, although he would prefer you to call it the ‘Defence Association’.”

 

“I’d like that,” Harry said, “but wouldn’t a teacher be a better leader? The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?”

 

“You’ve proven you’re a natural leader, Harry, and it would be great training for you to continue to lead it. Besides, the new Defence teacher will be dividing his time between school and his Auror duties, so I’m sure he won’t mind if you take charge of the group.”

 

“Who’s the new teacher?”

 

“Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

 

Harry nodded as he digested this information. He had met Shacklebolt on several occasions during the last year and rather liked him. After watching him duel two Death Eaters at once in the Department of Mysteries, he had no doubt he knew what he was doing.

 

“That brings up the other thing I need to tell you, Harry,” said Remus. “Kin— Professor Shacklebolt will be continuing your defence training once you get to Hogwarts. Since he’s a Auror, he knows more advanced techniques than I do.”

 

“What about you?” Harry asked, slightly panicked at the thought of not seeing Remus on a regular basis. He suddenly realized how much he had come to rely on his guardian’s calming influence during the past weeks, a presence he desperately needed.

 

“Oh, I’ll be around,” Remus assured him. “Dumbledore’s trying to get me to stay at the castle, but I know from experience that the parents won’t appreciate having a werewolf around. I’m planning to get a flat in Hogsmeade.”

 

“Good,” said Harry, relieved that Remus would be close by.

 

“Anyway,” Remus continued, “we want to keep it quiet that you’re taking extra defence lessons, so we’ll tell the other students that you’re Professor Shacklebolt’s assistant. He’ll need an assistant to be able to juggle everything. In reality, I’ll be the assistant; I’ll be helping him mark papers and plan lessons and such, but, of course, that has to stay quiet, too.”

 

Harry grinned. He was beginning to look forward to the school year.

 

*******************************************

 

During the next several days, Harry tried to focus on the upcoming school year instead of his guilty feelings about the Weasleys, and managed it most of the time. The prospect of taking defence lessons from an actual Auror was very exciting, and he couldn’t deny that he had thoroughly enjoyed leading the DA during his fifth year.

 

Percy’s death and the destruction of the Burrow had not been on the Muggle news. Harry supposed the Order had seen to that. He had taken to watching the evening news with the Dursleys, ignoring the glares his uncle periodically shot at him. Even though there had been nothing to indicate any Death Eater activity, Harry refused to give up watching. He knew the Muggle television news could easily have more immediate information than the Daily Prophet.

 

One evening as the program began Uncle Vernon distracted him by launching into a tirade against teenagers, especially “Harry’s kind” being interested in the evening news. Harry looked at him for a moment without listening, trying to force a polite expression. Vernon suddenly stopped talking and bellowed, “Petunia, what’s wrong?”

 

Harry turned to look at his aunt, who was covering her mouth with one hand and had a look of horror on her face. He followed her gaze to the television set and stared at the Dark Mark reflected there. He couldn’t hear the report over his uncle’s yells of, “What is it, Petunia,” but between shouts he clearly heard the name, “Creevey.”


	3. Changes

Author’s notes: Thanks again to Ginnysdarkside and Swishandflick (GDS did double duty this time!). Thank also to everyone who has reviewed so far. Harry finally goes back to school!

 

“Though one may be overpowered,

two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”

Ecclesiastes 4:12

 

 

“It looked as though they were having dinner when they were attacked,” Remus said in a bitter voice. “There wasn’t any sign of a struggle, so they must have killed the boys first, knowing that their parents couldn’t fight back.”

 

Harry buried his head in his hands and fought down his nausea. Colin and Dennis Creevey had been fellow Gryffindors and DA members. Even though Colin could get annoying at times with his camera and his hero worship, he had rather liked him. The thought that Voldemort had had them killed simply because they were Muggle-born made his hands clench into fists of anger. “Why the Creeveys?” he finally managed to ask.

 

“It appears the Death Eaters chose several homes at random to attack simultaneously. They must have gotten the names and addresses from a spy in the Ministry.”

 

“There were other attacks?” he whispered, his eyes widened in horror.

 

Remus sighed heavily. “The Rodmans were killed – their daughter Melanie would have been a first year this year,” he said in a monotone. “The Miller’s house was destroyed, but thankfully they weren’t home. Kevin will be a third year Hufflepuff – do you know him?” Harry shook his head. “Ted and Andromeda Tonks’s house was destroyed, but they were warned – that’s the one Severus was assigned to.”

 

“Tonks the Auror? Her parents? Is she okay?”

 

“Yes – she has her own flat in London. She’s understandably upset, though.” Remus took a sip of his tea and focused on a spot on the kitchen table. “The Muggles are calling them terrorist attacks,” he continued. “They’re right. Voldemort is essentially a terrorist, using violence to make his point and hoping to eventually overthrow the government. I’m sure he’ll experience a surge in membership after this round of strikes. People are scared. And the attack on the Weasleys shows that he’s not afraid to hit pureblood families.”

 

Harry nodded mutely while he tried to process this information, his thoughts whirling so quickly he felt dizzy. So much death, so much destruction. One thought surfaced: He had to kill Voldemort quickly. He had to train harder, faster, so he could be prepared as soon as possible. He had to redouble his efforts.

 

Remus looked up at Harry and took another swallow of tea before breaking the silence. “Well, this is likely to be my last visit of the summer since the Full Moon is next week. You need to decide which classes you’re taking so I can pick up your books.” Harry started a little at the sudden change of topic, but gladly shifted his focus, causing the dizziness to fade. Remus passed Harry an envelope from Hogwarts. Harry broke the seal, pulled out the parchment, and scanned the contents quickly with a gasp.

 

“I-I d-didn’t think I’d be allowed in Potions,” he stammered.

 

“Why not?”

 

“I heard Snape only accepted students who got an “O” on their O.W.L into his N.E.W.T.-level class.”

 

Remus smiled. “That explains why he’s been in such a foul mood lately – more than usual. Dumbledore must have told him he had to accept E’s. Advanced Potions is required for acceptance into the Auror training program and Merlin knows we need as many Auror candidates as possible.” He gave Harry a questioning look. “Is that what you had in mind?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said with a nod. He couldn’t help the happy feeling bubbling up inside him, although it was tempered a bit by guilt that he could feel happy at all after the recent Death Eater attacks.

 

With Remus’s help, Harry decided he should take the four classes he would need to be accepted into Auror training, as well as Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. Harry held the letter from Hogwarts in front of his face and spoke the names of the selected classes aloud, and the class list disappeared from the parchment, to be replaced with a book list. Remus pocketed it to take to Flourish and Blotts before the Full Moon.

 

“Okay, next on the agenda is Quidditch,” Remus stated. “Professor McGonagall wanted you for the captain this year, but she’s afraid you’ve already got too much going on.”

 

“I’m to be allowed back on the team?”

 

Remus laughed lightly. “Dumbledore got your lifetime ban reduced to a two game suspension, which you’ve already served.”

 

Harry couldn’t repress a huge grin at the thought of playing Quidditch again. “What about Katie for the captain?” he asked.

 

“I’m not sure of Minerva’s exact reasons, but I heard the words ‘unfocused’ and ‘boy-crazy’ muttered in conjunction with Katie’s name,” Remus said with a smirk. “She’s asked Ron to be the captain. I don’t think she’s forgotten how he beat her chess game during his first year. She thinks he’ll be good at strategy.”

 

Harry nodded in agreement; he had never managed to beat Ron at chess, even after five years. As long as Ron could maintain the confidence he had gained during the championship game the year before, he should be a brilliant captain. “Let me write a note for you to take to him. I want to congratulate him, and if I know him, he’ll be worried that I’ll be upset.”

 

*****************************************

 

Kingsley Shacklebolt arrived with three other Aurors at ten fifty on September first to escort Harry to King’s Cross. Shacklebolt gave the password before asking, “Have you got everything?” The other three never stopped looking around, alert for any possible threats.

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, shouldering a small knapsack. He had sent his trunk with other Aurors earlier. “Where’s Remus?” he asked.

 

Harry thought Shacklebolt looked uncomfortable for a moment. “He was held up,” he said after a pause. Harry nodded, and Shacklebolt looked around. “Okay, listen. There’s a little alley behind King’s Cross – do you know it?” Harry nodded again with a tiny smile, remembering Mr. Weasley’s Ford Anglia. “Good. We’re all going to Apparate into that alley together, as soon as I check it out. Understand?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Shacklebolt nodded once and Disapparated. After about thirty seconds, he reappeared, and the four positioned themselves around Harry, wands held ready. Shacklebolt counted to three. Harry concentrated briefly and suddenly found himself in a deserted alley with the four Aurors. After a murmured command from Shacklebolt, they slowly made their way into the station. By the time they got to the entrance to Platform nine and three-quarters, Harry felt rather silly to be surrounded by a guard, as they encountered no problems at all.

 

The platform itself was deserted, except for the eight Aurors guarding the train. Harry realized that the protection was not only for him, but for all the students on the train. The Ministry must have realized that the Hogwarts Express might make an appealing target to Voldemort’s followers. Since it was a few minutes past departure time, all the students were on the train and the parents had been cleared out. Harry gulped when he saw that the windows were full of faces peering at him. He already had enough attention at school; his manner of arrival at the station wouldn’t help matters any.

 

The four adults climbed into the front of the train with Harry, followed by the eight Aurors who had been on guard. He had a small moment of panic; surely the Aurors weren’t going to sit with him on the train! But Shacklebolt turned to him, smiling, “Okay, Harry, you’re safe now. We’ll be riding the train – just in case – but you can go find your friends.”

 

“Thanks, Professor Shacklebolt.” Harry sighed in relief and headed down the corridor.

 

The Aurors were sitting in the compartment usually occupied by the prefects, so Harry set off to look for Ron and Hermione. Even though he was hoping they had managed to save an empty compartment so the three of them could talk privately, he was a little nervous about talking to Ron. His friend hadn’t mentioned Percy’s death in his letters at all, and Harry was afraid he might blame him.

 

In the first few compartments he passed, he could see faces through the windows, but not those of his friends. The next one appeared to be empty, but he knew if they were sitting close to the door he wouldn’t be able to see them through the window, so he slid the door open cautiously.

 

The identity of the lone occupant surprised Harry; Draco Malfoy was usually surrounded by his gang of bullying Slytherins. Harry’s disgust at seeing his nemesis was quickly overcome by curiosity as Malfoy instinctively looked up to see who was at the door. The Slytherin’s cheeks were red and his eyes were puffy. If Harry hadn’t known it was completely impossible, he would have sworn Malfoy had been crying. He watched as the vulnerable expression faded from the blonde’s eyes and was replaced with anger and hatred. Harry suddenly realized he was staring and shut the door before the Slytherin had a chance to say anything.

 

As the train gave a lurch, he opened another door and found a couple snogging enthusiastically. He murmured, “Sorry,” and began to close the door, but froze when the two teenagers stopped kissing and turned toward him.

 

“H-Harry!” Hermione sputtered as she and Ron sprang apart. “This is not how we meant for you to find out.” Ron seemed incapable of speech, so Hermione blundered on. “I mean … we were going to tell you … first thing … but you were late getting here … and we hadn’t seen each other all summer…”

 

Without dropping his gaze from the couple, Harry closed the door behind him and sank into a seat across from them, his thoughts in a whirl. He had known Ron fancied Hermione for a long time, but he had no idea she felt the same. It seemed his two best friends were always arguing, and Hermione had spent a lot of time writing to Viktor Krum the previous year.

 

It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t been witnessing their first kiss. “How long?” he managed to ask.

 

Ron and Hermione looked at each other with the familiar look that said they were afraid he was going to lose his temper. Hermione suddenly stood up and opened the door. “Why don’t you two have a chat? I’ll go find out if we’re going to have a prefect meeting on the train – the Aurors are taking up our regular compartment.”

 

Harry wondered if they had planned for Hermione to leave Ron to talk to him alone, but he found he didn’t mind; it made him feel less awkward. As she shut the door behind her, he looked at Ron, whose eyes were wide in fear. He took pity on his friend and said, “Look, mate, I’m not mad. I’m just a little hurt that you didn’t tell me sooner.”

 

He watched Ron’s face relax into a small grin. “Good. We really didn’t want it to hurt our friendship with you. I was a little afraid that you might fancy her yourself. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

 

Harry suppressed a laugh at Ron’s lovesick expression and shook his head. “No, I don’t feel that way about her. I think it’s brilliant that you’re together. But when did it happen?”

 

Ron sighed, and his eyes glazed over slightly as he looked at a spot on the wall near Harry. Harry restrained himself, with difficulty, from rolling his eyes. “It was right after the Department of Mysteries, when we were both confined to the hospital wing. I mean, she almost died that night, and I realized I couldn’t waste any more time. I told her I … how I felt about her. I was shocked she felt the same way – I had no idea.”

 

Harry nodded, both to agree that he’d had no idea either and to encourage Ron to continue.

 

“We didn’t tell you because … well … Sirius had just … and we thought it seemed so … petty in comparison. And then over the summer … well … we wanted to tell you in person. This isn’t the kind of thing you put in a letter.” Ron turned his gaze back to Harry, his expression begging him to understand.

 

Harry fought down his annoyance and nodded. “That makes sense,” he said with a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

They both looked up as Hermione slid the door open, wearing a tense expression. She relaxed visibly after searching both of their faces and then crossed the compartment to resume her place next to Ron. He put his hand over hers, and she turned her palm up so they could interlace their fingers.

 

“We’re not having a prefect meeting today,” she said. “There’s not an empty compartment on the train because of the Aurors. But guess what I heard?” She continued without giving them a chance to guess. “Malfoy and Parkinson aren’t prefects any more.”

 

“Cool!” said Ron, beaming. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

 

“I wonder why,” said Harry, narrowing his eyes slightly and tilting his head.

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” asked Ron, looking at him in surprise. “Look what Malfoy’s father is.”

 

“Dumbledore knew Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater last year, and he made Malfoy a prefect,” Harry protested. “Besides, I don’t think he would punish a student for something his parent did.”

 

“And that wouldn’t explain about Pansy,” Hermione said. “I think it’s because they abused their authority last year. And it doesn’t help that they were part of Umbridge’s Inquisitional Squad.”

 

“That would make more sense,” agreed Harry. “Who’s taking their place?”

“Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass.” Harry nodded, but didn’t comment. He didn’t know much about either of the new Slytherin prefects.

 

They spent the rest of the train ride discussing the summer’s events and speculating about the upcoming school year. Harry and Ron discovered they were taking the same classes, and Hermione would still have most of her classes with them. She had, however, decided to drop Care of Magical Creatures in favour of Arithmancy and had also decided to continue Ancient Runes.

 

Harry finally worked up the courage to attempt to express his sympathy to Ron about Percy. As he spoke, Ron’s face hardened into a mixture of grief and anger, so he dropped the topic quickly. Hermione gave Ron a concerned look, but didn’t say anything. Harry wondered if he should ask her about it privately later.

 

Quidditch was a much safer topic. Ron was so enthusiastic about being captain that Harry was unpleasantly reminded of Angelina and Oliver. He decided that being made Quidditch captain must turn ordinary humans into monsters. Hermione finally breathed a small sigh of exasperation and, without letting go of Ron’s hand, reached into her trunk to pull out a book.

 

Finally the train began to slow, and they scrambled to collect their possessions. After they disembarked, Ron and Hermione went ahead to get a carriage while Harry paused to greet Hagrid. As he walked away from the huge gamekeeper, he heard a familiar voice in his ear.

 

“Merlin! Hermione has really developed over the summer, hasn’t she?” He turned to face Dean Thomas and gave him a puzzled look. “You hadn’t noticed?” the boy asked incredulously.

 

Harry turned his gaze to the carriage where Ron and Hermione were waiting. He gulped as he realized Hermione’s robes fit more tightly across her chest this year, forced the thought away, and turned back to Dean. “You’d better not let Ron hear you say that,” he told him. “They’re an item now.”

 

“Too bad,” said Dean with obvious regret. “I was thinking of asking her out.”

 

“I thought you were going out with Ginny,” said Harry. He noticed that Neville had joined them and was listening intently while trying to appear that he wasn’t.

 

“Not anymore,” Dean replied with a shrug. “I don’t do relationships by owl post too well.”

 

The three boys crawled into the carriage Ron and Hermione were saving and chatted happily as it rumbled toward the castle. As they disembarked at the school’s entrance, Harry had a sudden thought and drew Dean aside. “Is your family protected? I mean … after the attacks this summer … I wondered.”

 

Dean’s normally pleasant face grew a little fearful. “Yeah,” he said. “Some Ministry people came and arranged something with my parents. They’ll be okay.” Harry noticed he didn’t look completely convinced.

 

“What about Seamus? I haven’t seen him?”

 

Dean looked down and shrugged. “Last I heard from him, his father didn’t want him to come back and his mum was trying to talk him into it. I didn’t see him on the train, so I guess …”

 

Professor McGonagall and the first years were coming up the stairs toward them, so they hurried into the Great Hall and took their seats at the Gryffindor table. Harry looked up and down the table and swallowed a lump in his throat as he noticed all the empty seats. Seamus was absent, as well as the Creevey brothers, and Harry thought there might be a few others missing. He looked around the Great Hall and realized all the house tables seemed to be emptier than usual. The line of first years trailing in behind Professor McGonagall was the shortest it had ever been. Harry couldn’t help thinking of the little girl who had been killed who should have been in that line.

 

An elbow in the ribs from Ron pulled him out of his musings. “Look at Malfoy,” said Ron.

 

Harry followed his gaze. Malfoy was sitting alone at the end of the Slytherin table, as far as possible from his housemates. Harry narrowed his eyes, puzzled, and looked for Crabbe and Goyle. They weren’t difficult to spot; they were at the other end of the table, sitting with the rest of the sixth years. “Weird,” he said aloud. He turned to Ron. “You know, he was alone on the train, too.” He decided not to tell Ron about the vulnerable expression he had observed on the Slytherin’s face.

 

“Maybe his friends have finally wised up and realized what a git he is,” Ron speculated.

 

“Maybe …” Harry began, but trailed off as a rip appeared near the brim of the Sorting Hat.

 

 

“I may look like an ancient hat

Meant for the rubbish bin,

But try me on and I will see

Your secrets held within.

The founders gave me intellect

To choose where you should go

Based on the traits they value most

I’m always sure to know.

You may belong in Ravenclaw

With those who love to learn.

You may belong in Slytherin

With whom ambition burns.

You may belong in Hufflepuff

With those who try their best.

You may belong in Gryffindor

Where courage is the test.

I have to sort you in a House;

But just because I do

That doesn’t mean you can’t make friends

In other houses too.

You might find that a Ravenclaw

Has bravery to spare.

A Slytherin who loves his books

Might not be very rare.

A Hufflepuff might actually

Have cunning in his soul.

And sometimes a bold Gryffindor

Works to achieve his goal.”

 

 

The song continued, but Harry found his attention wavering. He let his gaze wander around the room, trying to determine whether any of the DA members or Quidditch players were among the missing students. He found his eyes returning to Malfoy, wondering what had happened to make the most popular Slytherin isolate himself from his housemates. He looked up, as if sensing Harry’s stare, and his eyes burned with such hatred that Harry felt compelled to look away. Harry felt a little disturbed by the intensity of Malfoy’s loathing, but also felt a little relieved that his enemy hadn’t changed too much.

 

“Yeah, right,” said Ron, snapping Harry out of his reverie. The Sorting Hat’s song had ended and Professor McGonagall had read the first name. Harry shook his head a little and focused on Ron. “Like I’d ever be friends with a Slytherin.”

 

“I wouldn’t,” Harry agreed, remembering the Sorting Hat’s words.

 

“I think the Sorting Hat made a good point,” said Hermione. “House rivalries seem stupid with a war on.”

 

“Not if the Slytherins are the enemies in the war,” Ron protested. “Aren’t most of their parents Death Eaters? I think the whole lot of them should be chucked out of Hogwarts. They’re probably passing information to You-Know-Who.”

 

“That’s ridiculous,” said Hermione. “What would they tell him? Who’s going out with whom? Who makes the best grades?”

 

“He knew who to attack this summer,” said Harry in a quiet voice. “Someone told him Ron is my best friend.”

 

Hermione and Ron stared at Harry but said nothing. Mercifully the awkward moment was interrupted by the end of the Sorting.

 

McGonagall carried the stool and Sorting Hat out of the room as all attention turned to the Headmaster. Harry noticed he looked tired and his eyes had lost the twinkle he was accustomed to. However, he still seemed to radiate power as he stood, smiled, and spread his arms wide. “Welcome, one and all!” he said. “I have some announcements, but they can wait until we are all fed and watered. Tuck in!”

 

The table magically filled with food, and the feast began. Harry silently piled his plate with roast beef, potatoes, and carrots and began to eat. He glanced at Ron and Hermione, but they both appeared to be avoiding his eyes.

 

A sudden voice beside him made him spit out a mouthful of beef. He wiped at the mess with a napkin and said, “Yes, Sir Nicholas?” trying to keep the exasperation out of his tone.

 

The ghost dragged his eyes away from the food and regarded Harry mournfully. “The Headmaster wishes to speak to you after dinner. He wants you to go to his office before retiring to Gryffindor Tower.”

 

Harry finished chewing a bite of potato and swallowed. “Okay – thanks.”

 

Sir Nicholas nodded once and then floated down the aisle toward the first years.

 

“What was that about?” asked Ron.

 

“I don’t know,” Harry answered. Then he had a sudden thought. “Maybe it’s about Remus.”

 

“Remus?” asked Hermione.

 

“Yeah. He was supposed to ride the train with me today. He didn’t show up.”

 

“He’s probably fine,” Hermione said, obviously trying for a reassuring tone, although her expression was worried. “Probably just out on … business.” She looked around furtively, and Harry knew she meant business for the Order of the Phoenix.

 

At this point Neville, who had been talking to Dean, turned to Ron and said, “I heard you’re Quidditch Captain. Who do you think will try out this year?”

 

Harry stifled a chuckle as Hermione rolled her eyes and turned his attention to his favourite topic. There was enough Quidditch speculation to last the remainder of dinner, and he felt relieved that the events of the summer were no longer being discussed.

 

When the puddings disappeared from the table, silence fell over the room as Dumbledore got to his feet again. “First, I believe it is only fitting that we raise our glasses in memory of those of our number who fell as casualties of war during the summer holidays.” The Gryffindor table was especially sombre as everyone raised their glasses and drank to Colin and Dennis Creevey. A few of the fifth year girls were crying, including Ginny. Harry felt tears stinging his eyes as he set his cup down and looked at his lap to hide them.

 

After a moment of silence and a melancholy sigh, the Headmaster wiped his left eye with his fingers and continued. “Mr. Filch has asked me to inform you that his prohibited items list has been expanded to include anything manufactured by Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes.” Harry heard Ron snicker next to him and couldn’t restrain a small smile. “I also need to inform our new students and remind our returning students that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all students.”

 

“Moving on to more pleasant topics – The Ministry of Magic has repealed all of the Educational Decrees which were passed during the last school year.” A vast cheer went up at this announcement; only the Slytherins seemed disappointed.

 

“I am happy to say that Professor McGonagall has recovered completely from her injuries and is returning to her teaching and Deputy Headmistress duties.” Enthusiastic applause greeted this statement, especially from the Gryffindor table. “In addition, I’m pleased to welcome back Professor Hagrid. He will continue as our Care of Magical Creatures instructor as well as gamekeeper.” The applause was not quite as eager this time, but Hagrid raised his goblet in acknowledgement, anyway. “Finally, I would like to introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor, Professor Kingsley Shacklebolt.” Shacklebolt stood up halfway and waved, acknowledging the fervent applause. Apparently, word had travelled that the new professor was an Auror.

 

“Well,” Dumbledore said with a huge smile, “that concludes our Welcoming Feast. I will see all of you in the morning.”

 

“See you later, mate,” Ron murmured as he and Hermione stood up quickly to help lead the first years to the Gryffindor dormitory.

 

Harry sighed and made his way against the crush of students to the front of the Hall and slipped out the side door. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and walked quickly to the familiar stone gargoyle, which, to his surprise, sprung aside without the password. Obviously Dumbledore had told the statue to admit him. When he reached the top of the spiral staircase, he found the Headmaster’s door standing open.

 

“Come in, Harry,” said Dumbledore from the chair behind his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

 

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Harry asked politely as he sat in a chair.

 

“Yes,” said the Headmaster with a grave expression. “It’s about Remus.”


	4. Professor Shacklebolt

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Thanks so much to all of you who’ve been waiting patiently to find out Remus Lupin’s fate. Sorry this chapter took so long to post. Chapter five is already in the beta process, so it won’t take so long. Thanks to all my reviewers – you’re what motivates me to keep going! Thanks especially to the best beta readers in the world: Ginnysdarkside, Swishandflick, and Gianfar (a new one!).

 

 

“Though one may be overpowered,

two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”

Ecclesiastes 4:12

 

 

“But that’s so discriminatory!” Hermione almost shouted. “Just because he’s a werewolf. And after all the things he’s done for the Order!”

 

Hermione sat next to Ron on the sofa beside the Gryffindor common room fireplace. Harry sat in a chair opposite his friends, repeating what Professor Dumbledore had told him about Remus.

 

“You’re right,” said Harry in a low, angry voice, “but there’s nothing we can do about it. Dumbledore said Tonks is staying with him while he’s questioned, and Shacklebolt went down to work on getting him released tonight.”

 

“I’ll bet that Umbridge woman is behind this,” Ron growled. “Didn’t Si– “ He broke off and looked at Harry in alarm.

 

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes. “It’s okay, Ron,” he said. “Don’t be afraid to mention his name.”

 

Ron still looked a little worried, but continued. “Didn’t Sirius say that Umbridge was responsible for some anti-werewolf laws?”

 

“I think you’re right, Ron,” Hermione agreed. “And remember how she always talked about ‘dangerous half-breeds’? I’ll bet it was her.”

 

Harry thought about that for a moment before saying, “If it is her, then there might be something we can do, after all.” He bent closer to his friends, and they instinctively leaned forward. “Can you two help me ask around to see if anyone else had detention with Umbridge last year?”

 

********************************

 

Harry, Ron, Neville, and Dean eagerly chatted about the classes they had chosen to continue as they walked down the dormitory stairs the next morning. Hermione joined them in the common room and Ron dropped a quick kiss on her cheek, which caused her to blush.

 

“Oi! Stop it Weasley!” Dean protested, adding gagging noises.

 

“Leave them alone,” Harry murmured to Dean, elbowing him in the arm. He privately agreed with Dean’s assessment, but felt the need to defend his best friends. “I don’t see you with a girlfriend.”

 

“Not yet,” said Dean in a cryptic tone.

 

Ron ignored them and held his head high as he walked to breakfast with Hermione holding his hand. When they reached the Great Hall, Neville scanned the Gryffindor table, mumbled a goodbye, and made a beeline for the empty seat next to Ginny Weasley. Harry narrowed his eyes in puzzlement as he watched him, but then Dean said, “Neville didn’t waste any time, did he?”

 

Harry was surprised when he grasped Dean’s meaning, and he couldn’t help glancing at Ron to see if he had noticed, but Ron only had eyes for his girlfriend. Dean said, “See you, mates,” and headed down the table to sit with a couple of giggling fourth year girls.

 

Harry shook his head and took his place beside Ron at the table, wondering when his dorm mates had all become so interested in girls. With all that had happened, dating had been the last thing on his mind during the summer holidays. He wondered if it would seem strange to his friends if he didn’t seek a girlfriend. He hoped not, since the little experience he’d had with dating had not been very pleasant.

 

The arrival of owl post was a welcome interruption to these musings. Hedwig landed neatly in front of Harry and held out her leg. Harry removed the note and stroked his pet lovingly, murmuring, “How are you, girl? I missed you.” The owl rubbed her face against Harry’s hand and nipped his finger affectionately before flying off toward the Owlery.

 

Harry turned his attention to the note. “Look, it’s from Remus!” he said to Ron and Hermione, gaining their attention for the first time that morning.

 

“What’s it say?” Ron asked through a mouthful of toast, earning a glare from Hermione.

 

“He’s fine,” he reported after scanning the short missive. “Dumbledore talked him into staying here at Hogwarts, but we’re supposed to keep that quiet. They don’t want parents complaining about a werewolf in the castle. He’s got quarters on the seventh floor as far away from traffic flow as possible.” He passed the note to Hermione then looked away as Ron draped an arm around her and propped his chin on her shoulder to read along with her.

 

The sound of a throat clearing loudly caused Ron to drop his arm and sit up straight. McGonagall gave Ron a glare as she handed the three of them their class schedules.

 

“Good! Defence Against the Dark Arts, first thing,” Ron said with obvious pleasure. “We can see what it’s like having an Auror for a teacher.”

 

As Harry was finishing his juice, he noticed Ginny leaving the Great Hall without her book bag. Neville trailed along behind her, puffing a little under the weight of two bags. When Ginny reached the end of the aisle, she turned and smiled at Neville, waiting for him to catch up. Harry glanced in alarm at Ron, but he was too busy eating to notice. After Neville and Ginny were safely out of the room, Harry said, “Come on, let’s go and get a good seat.”

 

They arrived at the classroom ten minutes early and joined the large crowd waiting outside the locked door. Apparently all the sixth year N.E.W.T. students were curious about their new teacher. Dean made his way over to them, and they were all chatting lightly when Dean looked past Harry with a beaming smile. “Seamus!” Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned as one.

 

“Hey mates,” Seamus said, looking smug. “Just arrived. Mum insisted on cooking me breakfast at home. Glad I’m not late.”

 

“So you get to stay, then?” Dean asked.

 

“Yeah,” Seamus nodded. “My mum convinced my dad that I needed to finish my wizard education, especially with the war on and all.”

 

“Brilliant!” Dean said. He grabbed his friend’s elbow and pulled him away from the others. As they went, Harry heard Dean say, “I met these two pretty fourth years at breakfast…”

 

The door finally opened from the inside, and the class filed in. Harry looked around in amazement. The room appeared to have doubled in size since last year and had been drastically rearranged. The desks were ordered in concentric semi-circles on ascending levels. There was no teacher’s desk in the front, only a large, empty space on the lowest level.

 

Ron and Hermione took a desk in the front row, and Harry sat at the desk next to them. Neville slipped into the place next to Harry, puffing a little as if he’d been running. “Where’ve you been?” Harry asked him with a huge grin. He thought he knew, since he had seen Neville leave the Great Hall with Ginny.

 

“Walking Ginny to class,” Neville whispered. “Do you think Ron will mind?”

 

“I don’t know – why don’t you ask him?” Harry smirked, remembering how Ron had reacted to news of Ginny’s previous boyfriends.

 

“No, that’s okay,” Neville said, with a nervous glance in Ron’s direction.

 

The students fell silent as Professor Shacklebolt strode into the room from a side door in the front. “Good morning,” he said in his booming voice, his deep brown eyes darting around the room. “This is sixth year N.E.W.T. level Defence Against the Dark Arts. My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. I’ve been an Auror for twenty-one years. I’ve never taught school before, but I’ve trained Aurors. Therefore, my instruction will take a more practical form than you’ve had in the past. I daresay that will serve you well in the current political climate.

 

“There will be no friends or enemies in this class, no cliques, no rivalries, and no Houses. When we do practical exercises you won’t think of your partner as someone you like or dislike, but simply a person you need to defeat. If you let affection or hatred get in your way, you will make mistakes.”

 

Zacharias Smith raised his hand. “What House were you in?”

 

Shacklebolt glared at Smith before replying. The blond Hufflepuff held his stare for a moment, but finally lowered his eyes. The professor said, “It doesn’t matter – like I said, there will be no House differentiations made here. But for the sake of illustration – I was in Slytherin.”

 

There was a collective murmuring at this announcement. Harry looked at Shacklebolt’s expression and realized he had expected this reaction, and was, in fact, amused by it. “Think I should be wearing a hood and mask, do you? Wondering if I’m a spy for You-Know-Who?”

 

Only Theodore Nott had the audacity to speak. “So you’re loyal to Dumbledore, then?”

 

The class collectively turned shocked eyes to the professor. “Nott, is it?” Shacklebolt’s eyes studied him for a moment and then looked at Crabbe and Goyle, who were sitting on either side of Nott. His eyes flickered over to Malfoy, who was sitting by himself in the back row, before coming to rest on Nott again. “Well, Mr. Nott, listen very carefully.” His eyes swept the room before he spoke again in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. “I am loyal to myself. It’s my conscience I have to live with, not Dumbledore’s, not the Ministry’s …” his eyes went to Nott again, “… and not my parents’. I believe You-Know-Who is wrong, and I have to act on my conscience to remain true to myself.” The students looked at him with rapt attention as they digested his words.

 

“But we digress,” he said in his normal booming voice. “You’re here to learn defence, not to discuss my background and loyalties.” His eyes swept around the room and came to rest on Harry. “Could you come forward, Mr. Potter? I need your help in a demonstration.”

 

Harry felt a sinking in his stomach, but he got to his feet and walked quickly to the front. He had been under the impression that he would be Shacklebolt’s assistant in name only; he hadn’t realized he would be called upon to be the centre of attention in class.

 

“You have your wand, I trust?” asked the professor. Harry pulled out his wand and held it up. “Excellent. I challenge you to a duel, Mr. Potter.” Harry nodded once and turned his back on his teacher, holding his wand vertically in front of his face. As he walked three paces away, he hoped his nervousness didn’t show. He had seen his opponent duel two Death Eaters at once without breaking a sweat; he had the feeling he was about to be humiliated.

 

Harry turned and mirrored Shacklebolt’s bow without breaking eye contact. As the professor counted them down, Harry tried to imagine what spell Shacklebolt might cast. He wasn’t surprised when his opponent shouted, “Expelliarmus!” and his shield easily blocked the Disarming Charm.

 

Shacklebolt nodded and began to move sideways in a semi-circle, sizing Harry up with his eyes. Harry mirrored his movements. After a few steps Harry shouted, “Tarantallegra!” and wasn’t surprised when Shacklebolt neatly dodged the leg-tangling spell. However, before Harry had a chance to recover, the professor shouted, “Impedimenta!”, and he found himself on his bum before he could even cast a shield.

 

His anger burned when he heard the snickers from the Slytherins. Shacklebolt strode over to him, holding out his hand to help him up. For a moment, Harry’s anger was diverted toward his teacher for humiliating him in front of the entire class, and before he knew it, he had yelled, “Impedimenta!” at Shacklebolt. He felt a small bit of satisfaction that the tall man was just barely able to dodge the hex. Of course, it would have been more satisfying if the curse had hit its mark, but Harry knew if it had he probably would have been serving detention. He looked up into the professor’s face, expecting to find anger there, but Shacklebolt was smiling.

 

“This was supposed to be a friendly, formal duel,” the teacher said to the class as Harry pulled himself to his feet, “so Mr. Potter’s Impediment Spell wasn’t entirely appropriate. However, he illustrated a point I wished to make. You all are more likely to find yourselves in a potential deadly duel with an enemy than a friendly duel like we demonstrated today. You have to remember to constantly watch for your opponent to let down his guard or to be distracted. That’s the only way you can beat an opponent whose skill is equal to or greater than yours. You also have to remember to keep your focus so your opponent cannot find an opportunity for attack.” He turned to Harry and said, “Thank you, Mr. Potter. You may take your seat.”

 

After Harry was seated, he continued, “I expect a roll of parchment from each of you on Thursday regarding the history of duelling. Right now, I want you to pair yourselves off alphabetically. For example, Miss Abbott will be paired with Miss Bones, and Mr. Weasley will be paired with Mr. Zabini. I want you to practice disarming each other only. When the bell rings, you may go.”

 

The students rose from their seats and began milling around, looking for their partners. Harry found himself paired with Padma Patil since Pansy Parkinson had grabbed the wrong twin, but he didn’t mind; Parvati tended to be giggly. Padma worked hard on the spell and didn’t treat Harry like a celebrity. Harry couldn’t help thinking about how pretty she was with her face screwed up in concentration, and his mind drifted back to his thoughts earlier about finding a girlfriend. It might not be so bad if it wasn’t someone who giggled or cried all the time. He didn’t want to go to the trouble of asking someone out, but he didn’t want to be the only one left without a companion, either.

 

When the bell rang, he mustered his courage. If Neville could do it, he certainly could. “Padma…” he began.

 

“Thanks, Harry,” she said as she pocketed her wand.

 

He took a deep breath. “Padma, c-could I walk you to class?”

 

Her eyes widened in surprise before her expression settled into a relaxed grin. “I’m sorry … I’m already … Terry’s walking me to Arithmancy.” She jerked her head in the direction of the Ravenclaw boy who looked up from gathering his book bag to narrow his eyes at Harry.

 

“That’s okay,” Harry said, trying hard to force his face into a nonchalant expression and hoping he wasn’t blushing. He flashed a grin and escaped from the room as quickly as he could.

 

Ron was waiting for him outside the door. “Where’s Hermione?” Harry asked.

 

“Arithmancy,” Ron answered. “So, what do you want to do with our free period? Go to the library and have a go at that essay?”

 

“No,” Harry said quickly, realizing suddenly what he wanted to do more than anything. “I want to go and see Remus. Want to come?”

 

As they walked, they discussed the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, both having nothing but praise for their new professor. Ron also had words that were almost kind for his assigned partner. “You know,” he said, looking up at the ceiling as if deep in thought, “as much as I hate to admit it, Zabini doesn’t seem to be the epitome of evil that you would expect of a Slytherin. Today in DADA class he didn’t even try to hex me – we just worked on the disarming spell. He was actually – pleasant.” Ron grimaced a little as he said the last word.

 

The two Gryffindors reached Remus’s quarters and spent an enjoyable hour telling him about their train ride, the Welcoming Feast, and their first Defence class with Professor Shacklebolt. Remus refused to tell them about his experience with the Ministry of Magic, but confirmed their suspicion that Umbridge was behind the new werewolf policies. Harry resolved inwardly to do whatever he could to get her fired.

 

They ate lunch with Hermione, but then left her again to head across the grounds to Hagrid’s hut. The N.E.W.T. level Care of Magical Creatures class was small, but that only seemed to make Hagrid more comfortable. Harry was relieved that none of Malfoy’s gang had chosen to continue the subject.

 

They spent the hour studying Jarveys, ferret-like creatures which were really quite amusing. Although not intelligent enough to carry on a conversation, they kept up a constant stream of rude phrases, over which Hagrid had to shout to be heard. Apparently, their only use was to repel garden gnomes, or as Hagrid joked, to repel unwanted guests. Ron remarked in an undertone to Harry that it was lucky Malfoy wasn’t in the class since no one would be able to differentiate him from the Jarveys.

 

After class, they promised to visit Hagrid later and hurried to meet Hermione. As they entered the library, Ron reminded Harry of a particularly rude comment a Jarvey had made, and he burst out laughing, earning a glare from Madam Pince. He tried to stifle his mirth as they made their way to the table where Hermione was waiting.

 

“What are you laughing about?” she asked without looking up from her Arithmancy homework.

 

Ron’s expression sobered immediately. “You don’t want to know.”

 

“Something from class,” Harry put in.

 

“What are you studying?”

 

“Jarveys,” Harry answered.

 

Hermione looked up at Harry, and then her gaze settled on Ron, who suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Rude phrases.” She rolled her eyes and looked back down at her work. “Boys!”

 

Ron shifted in his seat a little and then pulled open his book bag. “Well, we may as well get started on that DADA essay.”

 

“Speaking of Defence Against the Dark Arts,” Hermione said, “guess what I heard?”

 

Harry’s heart sank; he should have known the story would be all over school. He could feel his face redden as he said, “So what? I just asked her to walk with me!”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened with surprise. “You asked who to walk with you?”

 

“Padma. Isn’t that what you’re talking about?”

 

“You asked a girl out, Harry?” Ron said with an idiotic grin. “Well done, mate!”

 

“Wait a minute,” Hermione said. “That’s not what I was talking about. Besides, I think Padma’s going out with Terry Boot.”

 

“So I found out,” Harry said glumly. “Wait – what were you talking about?”

 

“Oh,” said Hermione, obviously flustered, “well I heard that Professor Shacklebolt ambushed the seventh year N.E.W.T class. Started throwing hexes at them the moment they walked in the door.”

 

“Wow!” said Ron. “Talk about a pop quiz. I guess we lucked out.”

 

“Our class is too big to do that, thanks to Harry,” Hermione said. “He would have been too outnumbered. The seventh year class is only half the size.”

 

“Still,” Ron said, pulling parchment out of his bag, “we’d better be on guard the rest of the year. He could always get some help.”

 

Harry listened to his friends discuss the Defence class as he absently flipped through his book, relieved that the topic had turned away from his encounter with Padma. He vowed to never to humiliate himself in that way again, even if he had to end his life as a virgin.

 

*************************************

 

The next day Harry sincerely regretted his decision to continue Potions. He arrived early, not wanting to give Snape any reason to deduct points. Of course, Ron and Hermione wanted to be partners, so he sat with Seamus, who was the only other Gryffindor sixth year taking the class.

 

The Potions Master made it clear that he resented having to accept the students who had only achieved an “E” on their O.W.L. exam, which was the majority of the class, but he seemed to be especially aggrieved to be teaching Harry. He hovered near him during most of the double period, apparently trying to catch him doing something wrong. Harry felt badly for Seamus, who was also under the gun since he was partnering Harry, even though he had actually managed an “O” on his O.W.L.

 

Snape finally decided Harry wasn’t shredding his knotgrass just so, and told him he could spend Friday evening shredding more for the first years to use. Harry turned to glare at Malfoy as he heard the familiar snicker behind him, and realized that the popular Slytherin was the only student without a partner, even though there were other Slytherins in the class. He shoved the thought aside to concentrate on the frothing concoction in his cauldron, but Snape seemed to have accomplished his goal and didn’t bother him for the rest of the period.

 

The day improved during lunchtime, when Harry received a note from Professor Shacklebolt informing him that his first defence training session would take place that evening at seven o’clock. He was really looking forward to starting defence lessons with the Auror.

 

At six forty-five, Harry left Ron and Hermione to their Charms homework and walked quickly to his lesson. The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom had been cleared of all furniture. It reminded Harry eerily of a certain room in the Department of Mysteries, except that there was no stone dais. Harry swallowed the lump in his throat that had suddenly formed and started down to the centre of the room.

 

As he reached the bottom, Shacklebolt burst through the door and shouted, “Tarantallegra!” Harry struggled to keep his balance as his legs started to do a weird dance of their own accord, and finally fell to the ground with his legs still twitching. He whipped his wand out of his pocket and shouted the same hex back at the professor, who easily blocked it.

 

Shacklebolt held up his hands and laughed. “Truce?”

 

In answer, Harry shouted, “Expelliarmus!” causing Shacklebolt’s wand to fly neatly into his hand. “Now we’ll have a truce,” Harry said with a nod.

 

“I let you disarm me, you know.”

 

“I know,” Harry acknowledged, “but you’ve already taught me not to trust you.”

 

“But how am I supposed to perform the counter-hex?” Shacklebolt asked, laughing harder and indicating Harry’s still-twitching legs.

 

A laugh sounded from the doorway. “I’ll do it,” said Remus. He performed the counter-hex, and Harry leapt to his feet.

 

“So are you both ganging up on me then?” Harry asked, brandishing his wand with his right hand while clutching Shacklebolt’s in his left.

 

Remus pocketed his wand and showed Harry his empty hands. Shacklebolt said, “We’re just talking now, Harry, I give you my word.”

 

Harry handed him his wand, but held his own ready until Shacklebolt’s was safely in his pocket. He stuffed his wand into his own pocket and crossed his arms in front of his chest, waiting for the professor to speak.

 

“I’m very impressed with your duelling skills and your reflexes, Harry,” the Auror began. “Your reflexes are faster than most Auror trainees I’ve seen.”

 

“That comes from Quidditch,” Remus said. “Harry’s an excellent Seeker – he’s a natural. He’s been playing on the House team since he was a first year.”

 

Harry couldn’t help beaming at the praise, but he felt compelled to say, “Well, I’m not fast enough. You can beat me easily.”

 

Shacklebolt shrugged. “There’s room for improvement, of course. That’s why you’re here. I’m going to start by showing you some exercises you can do daily to improve your reflexes. We’ll also work on hexes, blocks, and shields, but I want you to be able to be able to physically dodge spells as well.”

 

Two hours later, Harry went back to Gryffindor tower exhausted, but happy. It was going to be fun working with Professor Shacklebolt. He only wished he could feel so enthusiastic about Occlumency. He cleared his mind of all emotion and thought and fell immediately into a dreamless sleep.

 

**************************************************

 

“Well? How did it go?” Hermione asked, dragging her nose out of her book to look up at Harry, Ron, and Ginny as they trailed into the common room after Quidditch tryouts Thursday evening.

 

“I’m a Chaser!” Ginny replied, beaming.

 

“Yeah, and it wasn’t even because she’s my sister,” said Ron. “She’s almost as good as Katie.”

 

“Who else made the team?” asked Hermione.

 

Ron sat next to his girlfriend and put his arm around her. Harry and Ginny looked at each other; Ginny rolled her eyes, and Harry tried not to laugh. He wasn’t successful, because in the next moment, Hermione shouted, “Honestly, Ron! You need a shower!”

 

Ron, looking horribly affronted, scooted away from Hermione. Harry sat on Hermione’s other side and said, “Andrew and Jack are still on the team, but we decided Andrew made a better Chaser than Beater. Jack’s not great, but we think he’ll do better with his new partner.”

 

“Who is …?” Hermione lead. She looked at Harry with a puzzled expression, and he tried unsuccessfully to fight down the blush he felt creeping up his face.

 

“Stacey Vorlavitz,” Ginny said. “Harry, you’re being silly. Just because she asked you out two years ago…”

 

“When was this?” Hermione asked, looking shocked.

 

Ron burst into laughter, and Harry scowled at him. He looked at his shoes and said, “She asked me to that Yule Ball during fourth year.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “I turned her down because she was so much taller than me – I knew we’d look stupid dancing.” Ginny joined in Ron’s laughter, and Hermione looked as if she was trying not to smile. “She’s a good Beater, though,” Harry said a little defiantly, which only made Ginny and Ron laugh harder. Harry turned to reach for his book bag, ignoring his friends and pulling out his homework.

 

“Well, I’ll talk to you all later,” Ginny said when she had managed to stop laughing. She gave a jaunty wave and walked over to where Neville was studying.

 

Ron twisted his body around on the sofa to watch where she was going. “Neville?” he said to Harry and Hermione with a confused expression. “Why is she sitting with Neville?”

 

“She likes Neville,” Hermione said with a shrug, turning her attention back to her book.

 

“She does?” Ron asked, looking even more bewildered. “Why?”

 

“He’s nice, Ron,” Hermione answered without looking up from her book, sounding a little exasperated. “And I think she was impressed at how brave he was at the end of last year.”

 

“But he’s so … round!” Ron protested.

 

Harry glanced over at the couple and to his surprise, realized Ron was wrong. Neville’s height was finally catching up with his weight.

 

“Wait a minute,” Ron said, starting to look angry. “What do you mean he’s nice?”

 

Harry saw Hermione roll her eyes, although she didn’t look up from her book. “He’s always been nice, Ron. I’ve always liked him.”

 

Ron crossed his arms, and his face reddened. “So you’d rather go out with him than me?”

 

“Well,” Hermione said, turning a page and continuing to read, “I’m sure he smells better than you right now.”

 

“Fine!” Ron shouted. He thundered up the stairs to the dormitory, slamming the door behind him.

 

Harry struggled not to laugh. His best friends had always argued frequently, but it was funny that the debate topics had changed so drastically. He finally mumbled, “I guess I’d better shower, too,” and headed upstairs after Ron.

 

The red-head was alone in the dormitory, sitting on his bed, staring at the wall. He acknowledged Harry’s entrance by saying, “She’s always liked Neville. Why didn’t I see it before? She always helped him with Potions and stuff.” He buried his face in his hands and said, “What should I do?”

 

“Take a shower. Then go back downstairs and – I don’t know – kiss her or something – whatever you two do.”

 

Ron looked up at Harry with a mixture of sadness and confusion. “But she likes Neville!”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” said Harry, trying hard not to roll his eyes. “She likes you, mate. She was just teasing you.”

 

“Why would she do that?”

 

Harry shrugged. “Maybe it annoyed her that you got jealous. Maybe she likes it when you get angry. I don’t know. But you’re really stupid if you let this mess up your …” He threw his hands up in the air, trying to think of the appropriate word to describe his friends. “Your – relationship.”

 

Ron gave him a small smile, nodded, and strode purposefully to the bathroom. Harry sighed in relief and flopped on his bed. After a moment he pulled out his books, resolving not to go back to the common room that evening. He didn’t want to be there if Ron and Hermione argued again, and he certainly didn’t want to be there if they made up.

 

********************************************************

 

The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with excitement when Harry and Ron made their way down the dormitory stairs the next morning. “What’s up?” Ron asked Dean, who was standing on his toes trying to read the notice on the bulletin board over the gathered throng.

 

Dean turned and beamed at Harry. “You didn’t tell me you were continuing the DA, mate!”

 

Harry’s eyes widened with alarm and he tried to drag Ron to the portrait hole before the crowd noticed he was there. However, Ron pulled his arm away and protested that he wanted to wait for Hermione, so Harry ducked his head and hurried to breakfast alone.

 

Ginny and Neville were the only two people he knew at the Gryffindor table, and he couldn’t stomach sitting with a couple this morning, so he sat down alone and loaded his plate with sausages and toast. He had to admit to himself that he was excited about the Defence Association, despite wanting to avoid being the centre of attention that morning. Plans for the first meeting began to form in his mind, and he was a little startled when someone sat next to him.

 

“Good morning,” said Lavender.

 

“You don’t mind if we sit here, do you?” asked Parvati from across the table.

 

“Not at all,” said Harry, feeling a little bewildered.

 

“I think it’s brilliant that you’re continuing the DA, Harry,” said Lavender, her eyes wide with admiration.

 

“Yeah,” agreed Parvati, nodding her head with an identical expression. “You’re such a great teacher.”

 

Harry couldn’t help the huge grin that crept across his face or the warm feeling in his stomach. “Thanks,” he murmured. He suddenly felt ravenous and attacked his breakfast with relish.

 

“Well done, Harry,” said a voice behind him. He turned and looked up into the smiling faces of Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie Macmillan. “We’ve got a decent Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,” continued Ernie, “but we could always use the extra practice.”

 

“Especially after the attacks last summer,” Justin put in, his expression clouding; the sixth year Hufflepuff was Muggle-born.

 

“So I take it the announcement was posted in all the Houses,” Harry said. “Is everyone coming back?”

 

“Everyone I’ve talked to,” answered Justin, “and quite a few new ones. It’s open to all students fourth year and up.”

 

Harry suddenly felt a bit nervous; there had only been twenty-eight in Dumbledore’s Army. He wondered how many would come, and how he would handle them all.

 

*****************************

 

MORE AUTHOR’S NOTES: I gacked the idea for the DADA teacher attacking the students from Lady Jayne Paisley’s fic, “Triskileon” on Fiction Alley/Schnoogle. Also, Ginnysdarkside came up with the last name for Stacey, the new Gryffindor Beater.


	5. Closure

Author’s Note: As always, many thanks and praises to Ginnysdarkside, Swishandflick, and Gianfar for beta reading. My reviewers are what keeps me going, so review if you want me to continue

I want to heal

I want to feel

What I thought was never real

I want to let go of the pain I’ve held so long

Erase all the pain ‘til it’s gone

“Somewhere I Belong”, Linkin Park

 

 

After dinner Friday evening, Harry walked glumly down to the dungeons for his detention with Snape. He hadn’t been alone with the Potions Master since the man had thrown him out of his last Occlumency lesson. As much as he hated to admit it, he was a bit nervous; Snape had been absolutely murderous on that occasion.

 

He knocked on the door with more enthusiasm than he felt, unwilling to show any sign of weakness. He entered when bidden and strode purposefully to the Potions Master, who was sitting behind his desk with his hands folded in front of him and his body held taut. Snape did not offer him a seat.

 

“Mr. Potter,” he said in a frigid tone, “the headmaster has insisted that I continue your Occlumency lessons. But before I can do so, I must insist that you apologize for your flagrant invasion of my privacy last spring and that you be punished.”

 

Harry tried desperately to fight down the anger that was building inside him as he realized Snape had made up an excuse to give him detention. He felt his face redden and his hands ball into fists, but he managed to nod his head curtly.

 

The Potion Master’s glittering eyes stared at him for a moment, then he finally leaned forward and said, “Well, Potter? I believe you have something to say?”

 

Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly, willing his voice not to shake. “I apologize, sir. I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy.” He held his head high and showed no sign of repentance. There was no way he could feel remorse after what Snape had done, not only to him, but to Sirius.

 

“Very well,” Snape answered, not dropping his gaze. Harry continued to stare at his black eyes, also unwilling to back down from the contest of wills. When Snape reached for the wand on his desk, Harry groped in his pocket for his, still refusing to break eye contact. “Let’s see if you have been practicing this summer, shall we?”

 

At that, Harry closed his eyes and desperately tried to clear his mind of the burning anger. He only had time to take one deep breath before he heard the familiar spell. “Legilimens!”

 

Harry was surprised to find that he had actually achieved more control than he’d had last spring. As the pictures started flying unbidden through his mind, he forced himself to think about weeding the Dursley’s garden. On the edge of his consciousness, he saw a picture of Sirius falling through the veil. He mentally pushed Snape back and tried to focus on washing the Dursley’s dishes. A picture of Padma Patil struggled for dominance, and Harry fought harder, desperate that Snape not see that memory. The Potions Master pushed more forcefully, and the picture of Padma came into sharp focus. Harry shouted, “NO!” and felt his mind suddenly released.

 

He shook his head to clear it and opened his eyes to find himself sprawled on the floor and the professor leaning over him like a great black bat. He struggled to his feet as the fury began to build in his chest again.

 

“That was better, but of course you could not have gotten any worse than you were last spring,” said the Potions Master. His voice was bitter, as if he was disappointed that Harry had improved. “You have obviously been practicing. However, there is still much room for improvement. You made it obvious that the two memories I probed had significant emotions attached to them. You must learn to detach any sentiment from your most private recollections. The Dark Lord will look for the memories which arouse the most emotion in you, because those are the ones which will reveal your weaknesses.”

 

Because of his anger, it took Harry a few moments to process Snape’s words. He stared at the professor as he realized what the man expected him to do. Harry shook his head slowly; he felt it would be easier to cut off his arm than to cut his emotions from his memories. How could memories be the same without emotions? Memories and emotions were all he had left of Sirius. Snape was asking the impossible. To give up his emotions would mean giving up a large part of his true self.

 

Snape turned and walked away from Harry, apparently ignoring his horrified expression. He returned lugging a bucket, which he set down roughly in front of Harry, causing the soapy water to slosh over the Gryffindor’s trainers. His head snapped up as his anger rekindled and the Potions Master began to speak again.

 

“You will spend the remainder of the evening cleaning the floor of this classroom. You will use no magic, only soap and water. Is that clear?”

 

Harry nodded and tried not to show his relief that there would be no more Occlumency that night. As for the cleaning, his chores at the Dursleys had been much worse; he could do this. He rolled up his sleeves and knelt, trying not to think about the submissive posture he was being forced to take. He reached into the bucket for the sponge, feeling around when he didn’t find it right away.

 

“Professor Snape, sir,” he said, trying to sound acquiescent, “I need a sponge.”

 

“No, you don’t, Mr. Potter,” Snape said. He smiled, causing chills to run down Harry’s spine, pulled something out of his pocket, and offered it to Harry. It was a toothbrush. Harry felt his fury boiling up again as he snatched the toothbrush from Snape’s hand. It would take him all night to clean the floor with something so small!

 

With a triumphant look in his eyes, the Potions Master resumed his seat behind his desk and settled back to watch.

 

**********************************************

 

Harry awoke with an involuntary groan. Not only did his entire body protest any movement, but his legs felt as if he were under the Jelly-Legs Jinx from being forced to kneel for five hours the night before. He wobbled into the bathroom, reached for his toothbrush, and froze.

 

When Ron walked in a few minutes later, Harry was still standing in front of the sink, poised to clean his teeth, staring at the toothbrush as if it were Voldemort’s face. “You all right, Harry?” Ron asked, eyes wide with concern. Harry whirled around and held the offending object toward his friend. The toothbrush had a curious bend at the end, and the bristles were smashed and dingy. “You’ve been rough on that thing, haven’t you?” Ron observed in a cautious voice.

 

“He made me – oh Merlin – it was mine – Snape – I used my own …”

 

Ron’s eyes widened in shock and then narrowed in anger as comprehension dawned. Harry had told him briefly about his detention before collapsing into bed fully clothed the night before. Ron grabbed the toothbrush from Harry’s hand and threw it into the rubbish bin. Then he led Harry out of the bathroom, saying, “Come on – we’ll find something Hermione can transfigure into a new one.”

 

********************************************

 

Harry and Remus walked into the Room of Requirement, followed by Ted, Andromeda, and Nymphadora Tonks. The click of the door locking behind them seemed abnormally loud in the silence. The room was bare of adornments and furniture, except for a small podium near the centre. The only light came from the candles borne by each of the other occupants of the room.

 

The three men and two women walked slowly around the semi-circle formed by the members of the Order of the Phoenix. When they reached the end, they crossed in front of the Order members and turned to face them. Every member was present, even Snape. At one end, next to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, stood Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Harry relaxed and smiled slightly as he caught Ginny looking at him with a small smile, as if to encourage him.

 

Dumbledore left his place in the centre of the semi-circle and stood behind the podium, his back to Harry, Remus, and the Tonks family. “We have gathered to remember our friend, Sirius Black, and to express sympathy to his loved ones. Sirius left behind family related by blood: his cousin, Andromeda Black Tonks, Andromeda’s husband, Theodore, and her daughter, Nymphadora. Sirius also left behind family related by love: his best friend, Remus Lupin, and his godson, Harry Potter.” Dumbledore turned to face the family members and raised his wand. The people standing behind him followed suit. “To Andromeda Tonks,” the Headmaster said with a wave of his wand.

 

“To Andromeda Tonks,” repeated the crowd, imitating Dumbledore’s wand movement.

 

A stream of golden light drifted from each wand. The streams of light met at a point above Andromeda’s head with a soft crack like that of an egg, and a translucent curtain of golden light washed down over her body. Sirius’s cousin had been dry-eyed, but now her tears fell freely as if the spell had released them. She looked down at her feet as her husband put his arm around her.

 

While Andromeda’s body was still glowing, the group performed the spell on Ted, Nymphadora, and Remus. Remus remained dry-eyed, but appeared to be struggling to do so. Then it was Harry’s turn.

 

The spell felt like a warm blanket enveloping him, inside and out. Thoughts of Sirius flooded his mind, but they were clearer and sharper than ever before. Love swelled in his chest and a lump formed in his throat; he suddenly realized why the spell had caused the women to cry. He felt like bursting into tears, but also felt an overwhelming happiness that made him want to laugh. He did neither of these, but managed to keep his expression neutral, refusing to reveal his emotions to the crowd.

 

The warm sensation from the spell slowly dissipated, but the images of Sirius remained. Remus had explained that the purpose of the charm was to comfort the bereaved by sending them positive thoughts and memories of the deceased. The images would stay clear and sharp in his mind for several weeks, allowing him to ponder them when he was safely alone.

 

Harry reflected on the images a moment longer before shoving them to the back of his mind so he wouldn’t lose his composure. He brought his attention back to the gathering and forced himself to focus on following Remus as he walked around the semi-circle to stand behind the group.

 

Harry was relieved when he was out of sight of the rest of the mourners, but he still felt an overwhelming desire to give in to the swirling emotions, so he forced his mind to go blank and his body to relax. The right side of his lip curled as he realized that practicing control over his mind was useful for more than just Occlumency. His skills would especially come in handy if he was to remain dry-eyed for the next part of the ceremony.

 

Each of the mourners in turn went to the podium, shared a thought about Sirius, and left their candle hovering in the air beside it. The charm that had been performed earlier would allow Harry to remember the words spoken with perfect accuracy, so he tried to divorce his emotions from the situation and only observe, but a few phrases caught his attention.

 

“Sirius Black was extremely loyal to those he considered his friends.” Although Harry could not find fault with the words, Snape somehow managed to make it sound like an insult. Harry forced himself not to look at the Potions Master and concentrated harder on clearing his mind.

 

“Sirius Black treated us with respect, like equals, even though we were kids.” Harry was surprised at the sentiment from Ron; he had obviously spent some time thinking about what to say. Harry caught his eye and gave him a wobbly smile as he walked back to his place between Hermione and Ginny.

 

“I know I disagreed with him from time to time, but it was obvious that Sirius Black loved Harry fiercely. He couldn’t have loved him more if he had been his own son.” That comment from Mrs. Weasley caused Harry to blink his eyes furiously, but two tears escaped in any case.

 

Finally, the candles were all hovering around the podium and the mourners’ hands were empty. Dumbledore went to the podium one last time and said, “The family of Sirius Black asked me to thank you for attending this memorial today. As you know, at this point in the ceremony we would normally file out and leave the family members alone, but in this case I must ask you to leave this room as stealthily as possible, no more than three at a time, please.”

 

Snape unlocked the door and slipped out immediately, but the other mourners lingered to express their sympathy to the family members while waiting for their turn to leave. With unchecked tears streaming down her face, Mrs. Weasley enveloped Harry in a massive hug. Mr. Weasley surprised Harry by embracing him quickly before turning to leave with his wife. Hermione was next, squeezing him tightly and pressing her cheek to his before releasing him.

 

Harry turned to Ron, who gave him a firm handshake and clapped him on the shoulder. He suddenly felt his stomach clench as he realized he had not been there to cast the charm at Percy’s memorial service. However, he refrained from mentioning it since Ron had reacted so badly to his expression of sympathy on the train.

 

Ginny stepped in front of Harry as soon as Ron let him go. She pulled him into a tentative hug, and he found himself clinging to her a little longer than necessary. She murmured, “I’m so sorry, Harry,” into his ear before pulling back.

 

Harry felt his heart twist at the sight of her tear-stained face, and he felt compelled to say, “I’m sorry about Percy. I wish I could have been there for his service.”

 

“I know.” She pulled him into another quick hug and then turned, following Ron and Hermione out the door.

 

Finally, Harry, Remus, and the Tonks were the only people left in the room. The Tonks clung to each other as they stared at the candles, but Harry and Remus each stood alone, isolated, for the moment, by their individual grief. Harry struggled to control the tears which threatened to overflow as he gazed at the candles, each representing a kind thought about his godfather.

 

After several minutes, his reverie was broken by a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to go, Harry,” Remus whispered. Harry looked up to see that the Tonks were already slipping out the door. He gave Remus a small nod and turned reluctantly away from the mesmerizing sight of the candles.

 

As they reached the door, Harry turned back briefly and silently said, “Goodbye Sirius.” He watched the candles slowly flicker out and then pulled the door shut behind him.

 

**********************************************************

 

Harry woke reluctantly the next morning after only four hours of sleep. After dressing hurriedly and grabbing his bag, he staggered into breakfast with just enough time to nick a piece of toast. He grabbed a piece off Ron’s plate, sat on the bench with his back to the table, and started munching.

 

“Where were you last night?” asked Ron, who was just finishing his eggs and bacon. “Hermione and I waited up in the common room until midnight, and I didn’t hear you come into the dorm.”

 

Harry chewed on his toast and stared thoughtfully at his plate. Despite being tired, he felt better than he had in months. He was so glad Remus had invited him for tea after the memorial service. Between the ceremony, the memories, and the comments, he had felt totally overwhelmed and had no longer been able hold his grief inside. To his complete mortification, he had utterly broken down in front of Remus, but was relieved that he hadn’t been in the dormitory under the scrutiny of his friends. When he had finally regained control and managed to consume some tea and biscuits, Remus had entertained him for hours with stories about Sirius and James.

 

“Harry?” asked Hermione in a tone that demanded an answer.

 

“I was with Remus,” Harry answered, fighting the impulse to be annoyed. “He was telling me stories about Sirius, and we lost track of time.” He finished the toast and turned to take a swig of juice. “Come on, we’ll be late.” As they hurried toward the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Ron shoved a newspaper at him. 

 

“Your paper came,” he said. “You need to see this, mate.”

 

Harry took the Daily Prophet and looked at the headline: “SIRIUS BLACK: Another Opinion”. He skimmed the article as he walked, nodding occasionally at a choice phrase. The article reported how Pettigrew had actually betrayed Harry’s parents and framed Sirius for the murders. There were also highlights from the comments at the memorial service.

 

“You didn’t tell us you were doing this,” Hermione said, indicating the article with a jerk of her head. Harry was surprised to hear that her tone didn’t sound accusatory, only resigned.

 

“Sorry,” Harry murmured. “I wasn’t supposed to. The reporter is an Order member – she was at the service yesterday. She interviewed Remus and me before it started.”

 

“Aren’t you going to get into trouble for aiding and abetting a criminal?” Hermione asked, her eyes narrowed in worry.

 

“Dumbledore’s practically in control of the Ministry, now,” Ron piped up with a shrug. “Besides, he’s dead – what can they do?” Harry cringed a little at the use of the word ‘dead’, but he realized he would have to get used to it, and swallowed his irritation.

 

“Phyllis Walker,” said Hermione, peering at the by-line. “Was she the one with the purple dress robes and blonde hair?”

 

Harry nodded as they arrived in Defence Against the Dark Arts and took their seats. Even though Harry was very familiar with shielding charms, he enjoyed the class thoroughly. Instead of lecturing, Professor Shacklebolt used entertaining stories of his escapades as an Auror to illustrate the differences between charms.

 

After Shacklebolt assigned an essay and dismissed the class, Harry walked toward the library alone to wait for Ron, who was walking Hermione to Arithmancy. The buzzing of an insect near his ear surprised him in the noisy hall. He turned toward the noise and raised his hand to swat, but the markings on the beetle caught his eye. After staring at the insect for a moment, he went into an empty classroom, waited for the bug to follow, and locked the door.

 

“You know,” Harry drawled, turning to face the beetle, “it’s dangerous going around like that. I almost smashed you!”

 

Rita Skeeter crossed her arms and gave him an unconvincing pout. “Harry! After all we’ve been through together – why would you stab me in the back? Giving that amateur your story about Sirius Black!”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Possibly because Phyllis Walker actually writes the truth?”

 

“How could you say such a thing?” the reporter asked, scandalized. “Walker doesn’t have the experience I have. She’s …”

 

“Look,” said Harry, cutting her off, “if you will just shut up and listen, I’ve got an even bigger story in mind for you.”

 

“A bigger story?” Harry smiled at how easily her attention was diverted.

 

“One that could possibly shake up the Ministry,” Harry said, watching the usual eagerness return to the woman’s eyes. “However, there are a few conditions.”

 

“I’m listening,” said Rita with an expression of morbid hunger.

 

*********************************************

 

Harry stifled a gasp as he stared at the front page of the Daily Prophet the next morning. He scanned the article quickly, and then nudged Ron, who was wolfing down his breakfast in the seat between Harry and Hermione. Ron leaned over to look.

 

“Well, that’s no big shock,” said Ron. “I’m only surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

 

“What?” asked Hermione, straining to see the newspaper which Harry and Ron were sharing.

 

“Death Eaters escaped from Azkaban – the ones from the Department of Mysteries,” Ron said around a mouthful of bacon.

 

“Yeah,” said Harry, “but look at the list. Who’s missing?”

 

Ron pulled the paper in front of him to read it properly, and to make it easier for Hermione. “Dolohov … Macnair … Mulciber ... Lestrange …” she murmured. “Oh, my!”

 

Harry glanced up just in time to see Malfoy throw his newspaper down in disgust and storm out of the Great Hall.

 

“Why didn’t Lucius Malfoy escape with the rest?” Hermione wondered aloud.

 

“Good question,” Harry said, still staring after the blond Slytherin.

 

************************************************

 

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Seamus trudged to the Great Hall for lunch after double Potions. Although the Potions Master hadn’t managed to take any points from Harry that day, he kept shooting him triumphant glances, apparently trying to remind Harry of his detention the previous Friday. Harry had to keep reminding himself that he was taking the hated class because he wanted to be an Auror.

 

When they reached the Great Hall, Harry took his normal place beside Ron, and Seamus, after looking up and down the table, sat across from him. They loaded their plates with steak and kidney pies and mashed potatoes, and had just begun eating when Lavender and Parvati came to the table. Harry was a little surprised when Lavender sat next to him and immediately engaged him in conversation.

 

“How was Potions?” she asked as she poured her pumpkin juice.

 

“Er … fine,” Harry stammered, and then wondered what on earth he was talking about. “Horrible, actually,” he amended.

 

Lavender giggled. “I’m so glad I gave up that class,” she said emphatically. “I can’t believe you continued it. Snape always seemed to especially have it in for you.”

 

“Yeah,” Seamus agreed while stabbing a carrot with his fork. “He’s already had detention this year.”

 

Harry was a little surprised when he realized he was irritated with Seamus for telling Lavender that bit of information; he was suddenly aware that he preferred it when the pretty girl admired him.

 

“Why did you continue?” asked Parvati, who had settled herself next to Seamus.

 

“I need a N.E.W.T. in Potions if I want to be an Auror,” Harry explained with a shrug.

 

“An Auror,” sighed Lavender. Harry was relieved to see the admiration return to her face as she looked at him with wide eyes. Her eyes were darker than blue, but not quite brown, and he wondered why he had never tried to determine their colour before. She finally blushed and looked away, causing Harry to realize he’d been staring. His food suddenly became extremely interesting. “You’ll make a great Auror,” she said, looking at her plate. “You’re so good at defence…”

 

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, taking a sudden swig of pumpkin juice. He knew he should say something to keep the conversation going, but what?

 

He was relieved when Seamus asked the girls what they had done during their free period, and the conversation turned to the Charms essay that was due that afternoon. He relaxed, focusing mainly on his food, but occasionally contributing to the conversation.

 

When the sixth years had finished their pudding, Harry pulled his bag from under the table and started to get up, but a hand on his arm stopped him. “Would you walk me to class, Harry?” Lavender asked in a voice only he could hear.

 

Harry looked up in surprise and his breath caught as he noticed that the pink blush on her cheeks was very attractive. He had to keep reminding himself that this was just Lavender, someone he had known for five years. Surely if he could face Voldemort he could walk a girl to class! “Sure,” he mumbled. Lavender looked impressed when he shouldered her bag on top of his, which earned him a snicker from Ron and a raised eyebrow from Seamus.

 

It wasn’t far to the Charms classroom, but Harry again had the problem of not knowing what to say. Lavender was silent, which annoyed Harry; he had always thought of her as too talkative before, but she wasn’t talking now that he needed her to. He cast around in his mind for a topic, and finally came up with, “Have you started that essay on shielding charms for DADA yet?”

 

She seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “Yes,” she said, “Parvati and I started it last night. But do you think you could help me with it?”

 

Since they were still chatting about shielding charms as they walked into Professor Flitwick’s classroom, Harry sat next to her without even thinking about it. Ron and Hermione took the table beside theirs. Ron caught Harry’s eye and raised an eyebrow, indicating Lavender with a slight jerk of his head. Harry only smiled and gave a little shrug.

 

*************************************

 

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Lavender walked into the empty Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom fifteen minutes before the first Defence Association meeting was to begin. Lavender had taken to hanging around with the three friends during the past couple of days. Harry was surprised that he actually enjoyed her company; she didn’t seem as giggly and gossipy as she had in previous years. Besides, Harry sometimes felt out of place with his two best friends now that they were a couple.

 

The room was devoid of furniture, just like it was during Harry’s private defence lessons. He looked around, satisfied, and then sat next to Lavender on the bottom tier as other students began to file in.

 

First to arrive were Cho Chang and Michael Corner, holding hands. Harry was pleased that he didn’t feel even a pang of regret to see her with another boy. He unconsciously inched closer to Lavender as other students wandered in, seating themselves on the different levels like bleachers.

 

Luna Lovegood strolled in alone, looking around as if she had never seen the room before. She stopped in front of Ron and stared at him mournfully for a moment before saying, “Ronald, I’m sorry about your brother and your house.” Harry was surprised to see tears forming in her eyes. “I saw your house afterwards,” she continued before Ron could respond. “Dad and I walked over – we only live a few miles away, you know.”

 

Harry glanced at Ron and saw that he seemed to be struggling with himself. Hermione had a worried expression. Finally, Ron managed to say, “Thanks, Luna.” Harry and Hermione both breathed a sigh of relief; Ron’s emotions about Percy’s death were still volatile.

 

The blonde turned her mournful eyes toward Hermione. “You will take care of him, won’t you?”

 

Hermione looked at Ron, then back at Luna with wide eyes. Harry looked down to hide a smile; it wasn’t often that his intelligent friend was at a loss for something to say. Hermione finally stammered, “O-of course.”

 

“Good,” Luna replied with a small nod, apparently satisfied. She turned and drifted into the crowd.

 

At seven o’clock, Harry stood and turned to face the students. All of the remaining DA members from the previous year were present, including, to Harry’s surprise, Marietta Edgecombe. There were also about twenty students who were new to the DA. As he cleared his throat to speak to the large group, he noticed Professor Shacklebolt slip into the room and sit inconspicuously on the top level.

 

“Hi,” Harry greeted, a bit shyly. “Thanks for coming. This is the Defence Association. We will meet every week at this time and place. As most of you know, the DA was formed secretly last year since we had a DADA teacher who wouldn’t let us practice defence. Even though that’s not the case now, we could still use the extra practice, considering the current … er … political climate.”

 

Most of the students nodded at this statement, and all appeared intrigued. Every single eye in the room was riveted to Harry. As he opened his mouth to continue, he was interrupted by an unpleasantly familiar voice.

 

“I have a question,” said Zacharias Smith. Because of his previous experience with Smith, Harry knew to brace himself for something disagreeable. “What are they doing here?” Harry followed the direction of his finger, and his gaze rested on Blaise Zabini and a girl he didn’t know.

 

Harry knew exactly what he meant, but feigned innocence, forcing the Hufflepuff to say it. “What do you mean?”

 

“They’re Slytherins,” Smith said succinctly.

 

“The DA is open to any student fourth year and above,” Harry said, forcing his voice to remain calm. “I wasn’t aware that any houses were excluded.” He glanced up to Shacklebolt, but the teacher only smiled and nodded slightly, as if to say he was managing fine on his own.

 

“We’re at war,” Smith protested. “They could be spying for the enemy.”

 

“So could you,” Harry said. He ignored the outraged expression of the Hufflepuff and said, “It would be nice if we could tell so easily who’s a spy, but we can’t. One of the worst Death Eaters was a Gryffindor in school. Professor Shacklebolt is an Auror, but he was in Slytherin.” Harry looked around the room, trying to meet the eyes of every student present. “I don’t have a problem with anyone who wants to come and practice defence. I do have a problem with anyone who wants to come and make trouble.”

 

Smith scowled but said nothing. Harry glanced at Shacklebolt, who gave him an approving grin, and then looked around the room again. He cleared his throat and continued. “I’m planning to teach you some hexes and defences that will probably be new to you, but we’ll also practice familiar spells. In a duel with an enemy, you won’t have time to consider which hex to cast – you have to be able to act on instinct, and instinct can only come from experience.

 

“As you practice, think about which hexes and shields work best for you – everyone is different. If you ever find yourself in a duel with an enemy, you’ll want to be ready to play to your strengths. For example, I understand Ginny Weasley has a particular talent for the Bat-Bogey Hex.” Ginny, Neville, and Ron all smirked at this, no doubt remembering Malfoy covered in the great flapping bogeys. Even Luna stopped staring into space long enough to shoot a small smile in Ginny’s general direction.

 

“If any of you runs across a new hex or defensive spell when you’re doing homework, feel free to talk to me about showing it to the group. I’m not going to pretend to know every possible spell. In addition, Professor Shacklebolt will sometimes be helping us with some of the more advanced spells.”

 

“What about the dementors?” Blaise Zabini interrupted. “I heard you could perform a Patronus Charm. Are you going to teach us that?”

 

Harry smiled at the black-haired boy; Zabini’s question explained the interest the Slytherins had in the club. “Yes – in fact, that’s what we were working on when we were – er – forced to disband last year.” Zabini nodded and smiled back, but Harry noticed his eyes remained wary.

 

Harry looked around the room, waiting a moment to see if there would be any more questions. Everyone seemed to be waiting expectantly to begin, so he decided to wrap up his speech. “One last thing before we begin – practicing hexes requires certain – er – sacrifices – from everyone. If you’re afraid to cause your partner a little pain, you may as well not be here. Consider that when choosing a partner. We won’t be practicing anything that will cause permanent damage, but please, don’t cast a hex until you’re sure you know the counter-hex.” Most students nodded, and Harry saw several smirks in the crowd.

 

“Okay,” Harry said, rubbing his hands together in front of him. “I need you to divide into two groups – members from last year to the front, everyone else to the other levels. Pair off, and practice the Disarming Charm.”

 

The students complied, and Harry walked among them, mentally dividing them into two groups according to skill level. After about fifteen minutes, he stopped them and told them to take turns practicing a shielding charm against the Disarming Charm, and observed them again. He decided everyone who had been in the DA last year belonged in the more advanced group, and sent several of the new ones down to practice with the old members, including Zabini and the other Slytherin.

 

When the students were divided to his satisfaction, he told the advanced group to practice the hexes and shields of their choice while he worked with the others. Harry drilled the beginner group on proper posture and wand position for the remainder of the period.

 

After Harry dismissed the group, Professor Shacklebolt took him aside to give him a few suggestions and words of praise. All in all, Harry was feeling rather pleased with himself as he walked to Gryffindor Tower with Ron, Hermione, Lavender and Parvati, who had waited in the corridor for him.

 

“I can’t believe Marietta Edgecombe had the nerve to show her face at the meeting!” exclaimed Lavender, walking next to Harry.

 

“Speaking of her face,” Parvati put in, “I heard she had to spend a whole week at St. Mungo’s over the summer to get rid of the spots. Serves her right!”

 

“That jinx was a brilliant idea, Hermione,” praised Ron, putting an arm around his girlfriend and planting a wet kiss on her cheek. Harry noticed that Hermione looked uncomfortable, and suspected that despite Marietta’s betrayal, his friend felt badly that she had been the cause of so much pain and embarrassment. Ron let go of Hermione and turned toward Harry. “Why’d you let her stay, Harry? I’d have thrown her out!”

 

Harry was silent for a moment while he thought about the Ravenclaw girl. “Well,” he finally said, “you heard what I said to Smith. As long as she’s not causing trouble, I guess I don’t have a problem.”

 

“But she’s a traitor!” protested Lavender.

 

“No,” Harry said slowly, “she’s not – not really – she’s just a telltale. She probably thought she was doing the right thing.” He looked away from his friends and said, “Sometimes a person can believe they’re doing the right thing, but still make a mistake.” Harry chanced a glance at Ron, and noticed he looked a little ashamed of himself, presumably for believing the worst about Marietta when he had always accepted Harry’s flaws. Then he turned to Lavender, whose wide, dark eyes full of trust and admiration caused a warm sensation in his stomach. He found himself hoping she would continue to see him in that way, and resolved that she would never find out about all the horrible mistakes he had made.

 

*************************************************

 

Author’s notes: The author wishes to point out that not all of the ships in this story are “true love”, and thus, will not necessarily last. Therefore, if you see a ship you don’t sail, don’t abandon my story. Cameo mention of my mother’s name with an ancestral surname.


	6. Nobody's Listening

Author’s notes: Ginnysdarkside, Swishandflick, and Gianfar rock! A lot of people ask me why I have three beta-readers, and if it's necessary. I love it, because they all have different points of view and catch different things. If you think my writing is good, it's due to their help!

Finally getting to Draco this time!

 

 

I got a heart full of pain

Head full of stress

Handful of anger

Held in my chest

Uphill struggle

Blood, sweat and tears

Nothing to gain

Everything to fear

“Nobody’s Listening”, Linkin Park

 

**********************************************************

 

Harry ran down the stairs towards the dungeons, giving a wide berth to a pair of fourth years headed upward. He normally used his invisibility cloak at night when the halls were deserted; it was a challenge to use it when the halls were teeming with students.

 

Haste was making it difficult to be quiet, but fortunately, there was enough noise in the hallways to hide the sound of his footsteps. It had been difficult to escape his friends in the common room. Ron and Hermione knew where he went on Friday evenings, but Lavender didn’t. He had finally told her he had a stomach-ache and was going to bed early. Ron had furtively let him out of the portrait hole after he had retrieved his invisibility cloak.

 

He considered telling Lavender about his extra lessons and decided it was too soon. They had been hanging around together for the past few days, but they had yet to be on anything that could be remotely considered a date. He wondered about that; he would have to be creative about dating this year since he wasn’t allowed go to Hogsmeade. He liked the idea of Lavender being his girlfriend, of holding her hand, maybe kissing her …

 

He shook his head to clear his thoughts of Lavender’s physical attributes and forced himself to focus on her trustworthiness. The girl could be a bit of a gossip, and Harry certainly couldn’t afford for any of his secrets to be made known to the entire student body. No, it would be a long time before he could tell Lavender about his private lessons, if ever. He longed, as he did often, for a time when he could just have the normal worries and frustrations of a teenager and not have secrets he had to keep from a girlfriend.

 

As he neared the dungeons, his thoughts turned to Snape, and he wondered if the Potions Master would continue to punish him tonight. He hoped that scrubbing the classroom floor with his toothbrush had been enough to satisfy Snape’s anger.

 

Snape had left the door to the classroom open and was waiting to close it behind him. “You’re late!” he barked.

 

“Sorry, Professor Snape,” Harry said in what he hoped was a submissive tone.

 

“Ten points from Gryffindor. It will be more if you haven’t been practicing,” Snape snarled.

 

Harry steeled himself for the mental assault and raised his wand, but a knock at the door interrupted Snape’s spell casting. The Potions Master cursed under his breath and waved his wand at the door.

 

“It’s Malfoy,” Snape said, grabbing Harry’s invisibility cloak and shoving it toward him. “Get into the storage room.”

 

Harry did as Snape said without question and shut the door behind him, but he quickly pulled something pink from his pocket. Ever since he had overheard a revealing conversation between Remus and his aunt during the summer, he had kept an Extendable Ear with him at all times. It paused briefly as it reached the crack at the bottom of the door, and moved like a snake raising its head as if deciding which way to go. Harry gave a little sigh of relief as the pink thread finally made its way under the door.

 

“What can I do for you, Draco?” Snape asked pleasantly, almost affectionately.

 

“I want to talk to you about my father, sir,” came the familiar drawl. “I want to know why he’s still in Azkaban.”

 

“Apparently your father isn’t as skilled in escape tactics as the others,” Snape said in an evasive tone.

 

“You know that’s not the reason,” Malfoy protested, his voice low and intense. “I know he helped them escape, and I want to know why he didn’t help my father.”

 

“I could only speculate. Why don’t you ask your mother? She would be more likely to know than I would.”

 

Harry heard a small choking noise and had to strain to hear Malfoy’s next words. “She asked last month. She went to the Dark Lord to plead for him to help Father escape. When she came back …” Harry heard another choking noise, and then a clearing of a throat. “There was so much blood – all over her legs – she almost died …” Despite his hatred for the Malfoy family, Harry found himself growing nauseated at the mental image. He wondered if anyone deserved to be abused like that, no matter how evil they were.

 

“I don’t understand why he would do that,” Malfoy continued after a pause. “My family has always been among his most loyal supporters.” Another pause, and Harry fervently wished he could see the two Slytherins. “I asked her about it when she had recovered a bit, and she would only say that she shouldn’t have been so weak – she shouldn’t have let the Dark Lord see any weakness.”

 

“She’s right,” said Snape. Harry flinched at the harsh words, even though the tone was gentle. “Showing weakness in the presence of the Dark Lord is unwise.” He heard a quiet rustling of movement and wondered if Snape was capable of giving a gesture of comfort. “I do regret that you and your mother had to discover that fact the hard way.”

 

“Please, Professor Snape. If anyone would know, you would. What’s going on with my father?”

 

Harry heard a heavy sigh. “Look, Draco, your father was useful to the Dark Lord because of his connections at the Ministry. When he was arrested his usefulness was ended. And you don’t help matters – you don’t exactly keep a low profile here at Hogwarts.”

 

“That’s not an issue this year,” Malfoy said in a sulky tone. “My housemates aren’t allowed to associate with me. Their parents support the Dark Lord, but since my father’s been exposed, they don’t want to risk guilt by association. Hypocrites!”

 

“Not all of your housemates’ families support the Dark Lord.”

 

“True,” agreed Malfoy; Harry thought of Zabini, wondering, not for the first time, which category he fit into. “But they won’t speak to me because they see me as the enemy.” After a pause, he continued under his breath, “I wouldn’t want to be seen with those Muggle lovers, anyway.”

 

Snape gave another heavy sigh, and Harry heard footsteps going towards the door. “Draco, you are a Slytherin and a Malfoy. You must put aside this weakness. The Dark Lord will likely require your service someday soon, and as you have seen, he has no tolerance for weakness of any kind.” Harry heard the door to the classroom open. “I am sorry I cannot be of more help to you, but I’ve just given you the best piece of advice I can.” Snape’s voice actually sounded regretful.

 

Harry heard Malfoy’s footsteps go out of the room and the door shut and lock behind him. He quickly rolled up the Extendable Ear before Snape opened the door to the storage room.

 

Snape searched his face as he walked into the classroom. Harry tried to school his expression into impassiveness, but the Potions Master was not fooled. “How much did you hear?”

 

There was no point in lying about it. “All of it.”

 

The professor gave him a long look and said, “Trust me - he wouldn’t appreciate your pity.” He gestured toward the storage room with his head and said, “You shouldn’t have been able to hear anything through that door. How did you do it?”

 

Harry remained silent and desperately tried to remove the image of the Extendable Ear from his mind.

 

Snape nodded. “All right,” he said, “this will make a good exercise. I will probe your mind to find out how you managed to overhear the conversation, and you will try to prevent me from finding out.”

 

Two hours later, Harry stumbled back to his dormitory without his Extendable Ear. Snape had taken fifty points from Gryffindor as punishment for eavesdropping, but Harry couldn’t help feeling a little pleased that it had taken the Potions Master over an hour to discover his secret. He was improving at Occlumency, which meant he was increasing his chances against Voldemort, and that was much more important than a few house points. Before falling into his bed to sleep, he scribbled an order to Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes.

 

************************************************************

 

It was a perfect day for a picnic. The last of the summer sun warmed the green grass and glittered silver on the lake. The Forbidden Forest was a sea of brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows, deceptive beauty shrouding its dark secrets. The cloudless sky added bright blue to the bold colour scheme.

 

Lavender had received a box of sweets from her mother the day before, and she had invited Harry, Parvati, and Seamus to join her for a picnic on what promised to be the last warm day before autumn’s chill. The four teenagers lounged on the grass after eating their fill.

 

Harry lay back and closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax completely. He had become quite skilled at emptying his mind, and it was bliss to spend his Sunday afternoon without worrying about homework, private lessons, or Voldemort. He should have known it was too good to last.

 

“So, Harry,” said Seamus, rolling over onto his stomach and propping his chin on his hands. “I’ve been meaning to ask you – what happened at the end of last term? You fainted during the History of Magic O.W.L., and then I heard you left Hogwarts. Is that true? I know Ron and Hermione spent some time in the hospital wing.”

 

The girls sat up straight and stared intently at Harry. “Spill it, Harry,” said Lavender. “I heard you all went to London, but I know that’s not true. How would you get there? You don’t know how to Apparate, do you?”

 

Harry took deep breaths, trying to force himself to stay relaxed, but the tension that had started in his stomach made its way up to his chest anyway. He sat up with a sigh and shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s – it wasn’t – I just – I just can’t talk about it.”

 

“Because it’s ‘top secret’ or because it’s too painful?” Parvati asked. Harry was a little surprised at her insight.

 

“Both I guess,” Harry mumbled, desperately casting around in his mind for another topic of conversation. He turned to Seamus and asked, “What do you think of the Cannon’s chances this year?”

 

“But how did Hermione and Ron get hurt?” Lavender pressed. “Hermione was in the hospital wing for days, and I saw the welts on Ron’s arms. Were they attacked by something?”

 

Yeah, Death Eaters, Harry thought to himself. He was perversely tempted to say it just to see the looks of horror on his friends’ faces. But then he found himself feeling a little irritated that Ginny, Neville, and Luna were left out of the rumours, and before he could stop himself he said, “Everyone was injured – theirs were just the worst.”

 

“There were others?” Seamus asked with a gasp. “Who else was there?”

 

“And where did you go?” put in Parvati.

 

Harry sighed. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to tell them an edited version, just to dispel the rumours. “Okay – yes, we left Hogwarts. I thought a friend of mine was in danger, and we went to rescue him.”

 

“Who?” Seamus fired off the question like a detective from a Muggle television show.

 

“Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Luna and I. We used …”

 

“Wait,” Seamus interrupted. “Who’s Luna?”

 

“Luna Lovegood,” Harry said. “She’s a fifth year Ravenclaw.”

 

“I know her,” squealed Parvati. “Her father is the editor of the Quibbler – you know, Lavender – that magazine with all the brilliant quizzes?”

 

“The blonde?” asked Lavender, screwing up her face in concentration as she tried to remember. “I heard she was a real flake.”

 

“She was very brave,” Harry protested, feeling annoyed, even though he had to agree with the assessment. “Anyway, we used the thestrals to leave school.” All three of his audience looked very impressed at this, but remained silent. “I was wrong about my friend …”

 

“Who did you think was in danger?” asked Seamus. Harry was getting exasperated at the interruptions.

 

“No one you would know! Anyway, he wasn’t in danger after all, but in the meantime we were attacked …”

 

“By what?” This time the interruption was from Parvati.

 

“By Death Eaters!” Harry practically shouted. The others sat in stunned silence, all wearing identical expressions of horror. Harry forced his voice to be calm. “This wasn’t just a little field trip – our lives were in danger. Hermione was almost killed. Ron was attacked by – something. Ginny’s ankle was broken, Neville’s nose was broken, and Luna was knocked out. It wasn’t fun, and it’s not something I like to talk about – okay?” Harry suddenly realized he had risen to his feet in his fury. He took a couple of deep breaths and said in a quiet voice, “I hope that’s enough information for you and your gossipy friends.” He turned on his heel and left, striding at top speed towards the castle.

 

Lavender probably called his name several times before he heard it over the pounding of blood in his ears. He looked over his shoulder and saw her running to catch up to him. He slowed a little, and then stopped without turning around.

 

“Harry, I’m sorry,” she said from behind him. He turned, and at the sight of her tear-stained face all his anger melted away. “I read the article in the Prophet,” she continued. “Your godfather – Sirius Black – he died that night, didn’t he?” Harry gave a curt nod, feeling his stomach tighten. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I won’t ask you about it again.”

 

“It’s okay,” Harry finally managed to say. He felt the need to explain. “I-I just can’t talk about it – not yet. Maybe someday it’ll be easier …” He fought to keep his hands at his sides; they seemed to want to go to her face to wipe off the tears. It was odd that he wanted to comfort her; normally a crying girl made him want to run away.

 

Lavender sniffed and gave him a small smile. “Can I walk back to the castle with you? Parvati will bring the basket.”

 

“Sure,” said Harry, managing to smile back. They walked to Gryffindor Tower in companionable silence.

 

************************************************************

 

Harry looked up eagerly from his Tuesday morning porridge as the owls flew in. “Rita’s message said the article would appear today,” he said absently.

 

“What article?” Lavender asked, turning curious eyes toward him.

 

Harry glanced across the table at his two best friends; Hermione gave a little shrug. He swallowed his irritation and said, “I’ll show you as soon as the paper gets here.”

 

As if summoned by Harry’s words, a brown owl with white speckles landed neatly on the table before him and dropped the Daily Prophet in front of his bowl. He grabbed a piece of bacon out of the nearest platter and offered it to the bird, which took it and flew away. Harry unfolded the paper and choked back a gasp; he hadn’t expected the story to make the front page.

 

“Abuse at Hogwarts,” Lavender read, sliding closer to Harry. “Is that what you were talking about?”

 

Harry nodded slightly, reading the article quickly to make sure there were no inaccuracies. Satisfied, he started to give the paper to Lavender to read, but froze when he realized she was staring at the back of his right hand. Her eyes flitted to the photograph in the newspaper and then widened in comprehension.

 

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, starting to look queasy.

 

“Be quiet!” Harry whispered, looking around.

 

“I can’t believe she did that to you!” Lavender said in a quieter voice, her eyes filling with tears as she took the paper from him.

 

“Lavender,” Harry said in an urgent whisper, turning to look her full in the face, “listen – there’s a reason I gave the reporter the story anonymously. I get enough attention as it is. Please don’t tell anybody!”

 

“But – everyone needs to know about this – that cow needs to be sacked…”

 

“I know,” agreed Harry, “and that’s why I gave her the story, but no one needs to know it was me.”

 

“But it’s nothing to be ashamed of, Harry,” Lavender insisted. “It wasn’t your fault!”

 

“I’M NOT…” he stopped and took a deep breath, trying to control his irritation. “I’m not ashamed,” he said. “I just get tired of all the attention – okay?” She didn’t look convinced, and he watched in horror as a tear escaped her right eye and trickled down her face. His irritation evaporated, and he couldn’t help feeling a little heartened at her righteous indignation. “Look, I’m trying to get her sacked. That’s why I gave Rita Skeeter the story. But if everyone knows it’s me, they might not take it seriously. Remember how no one took me seriously last year?”

 

Lavender suddenly looked at her plate; the expression on her face had turned to shame. Harry wondered why, but then remembered that Lavender had been one of the students who hadn’t initially believed his story about Cedric and Voldemort. “Sorry,” she whispered toward her plate.

 

“No worries,” said Harry. He didn’t see the point in harbouring bitterness about it. “But please – don’t tell anybody about this – okay?”

 

“Okay,” Lavender said, flashing him a small smile. She handed the newspaper back to him, and he gave it to Ron and Hermione, who were waiting to read it. He tried to finish his porridge, but found he couldn’t relax his stomach; he was afraid the story about his detention would be all over school by lunchtime. He considered wearing gloves, but figured that would only draw more attention to his hands. No, he would just have to try to inconspicuously hide his hand all day, hope Lavender kept her word, and trust that a new topic of gossip would come along quickly.

 

***********************************************************

 

He heard the news two days later, from Hagrid, ironically. The huge man pulled Ron and him aside while the rest of the class were documenting the differences between malaclaws and lobsters. Hagrid’s face looked like Christmas had come early as he told Harry and Ron that Umbridge had been sacked from the Ministry of Magic, and as he praised Harry quietly for telling the Daily Prophet about his detentions.

 

“How did you know it was me?” Harry whispered.

 

“Remus told me to tell you about Umbridge,” Hagrid explained. “He said you had a ‘vested interest’ in the story – wasn’t hard to figure out from there.” Hagrid looked pointedly at Harry’s right hand, and Harry quickly turned it over.

 

After class, Harry and Ron went to the library and headed to the table where Hermione sat alone.

 

“Hi, Harry,” called a voice from a table nearby. Harry looked up to see Lavender and Parvati looking expectantly at him.

 

“Go on, mate,” Ron said with a smirk. “You know you want to.”

 

Harry glared at Ron, but the red-head only grinned cheekily in return. He rearranged his features into a smile before turning to join the two girls. As soon as he sat down, Parvati made her excuses and headed back to Gryffindor Tower, leaving Harry alone with Lavender.

 

“Perfect timing,” she said with a brilliant smile. “I was just getting started on the D.A.D.A. essay. Want to work on it together?”

 

“Oh, I get it,” Harry said in a teasing tone. “You’re only interested in the help I can give you in D.A.D.A.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Harry felt mortified that he was actually flirting with a girl and resolved to quit spending so much time with Seamus.

 

But Lavender only blushed prettily and lowered her eyes. “No, Harry,” she whispered, “that’s not all I’m interested in.” Harry felt the familiar flutter in his stomach, the one he had felt when he’d fancied Cho.

 

Lavender opened her textbook to the essay topic. Harry thought about pulling out his own book, but realized it would be easier to scoot his chair closer to Lavender’s and share her book. He quickly noticed other benefits as well; even though they weren’t actually touching, the heat from her body warmed him inside and out.

 

As they discussed the essay, Harry found himself leaning increasingly closer to the dark-eyed girl. When their shoulders finally brushed, a thrill went through his entire body and his shoulder tingled for several minutes. He was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the matter at hand.

 

Lavender asked him about a phrase in the book, pointing it out with her finger. As she returned her hand to her lap, her fingers brushed against Harry’s hand which was resting on his thigh. Harry’s heart started beating wildly and his mind went blank as he reached into Lavender’s lap and tentatively took her hand. He could feel the blush creeping up his face as he shot her a questioning look. The pink tinge returned to her cheeks and she gave him a small smile.

 

Harry returned his gaze to the book and tried to focus on the question she had asked him, but all he could think about was that he hoped Lavender didn’t notice how his palm was sweating. He wondered why such simple physical contact with a girl could completely empty his mind.

 

“Harry?” said Lavender in a questioning tone. Harry breathed a sigh of relief that she had spoken, since he couldn’t seem to engage his brain.

 

“Hmmm?” he answered, trying once again to decide what colour her eyes were.

 

“W-would you like to – maybe – take a moonlight walk tomorrow night?”

 

A moonlight walk … she meant alone … and in the dark! His heart began to beat even faster, and he couldn’t help wondering why more blokes his age didn’t die of heart attacks. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling fear, excitement, or a combination of both.

 

When he didn’t answer right away, Lavender looked away and continued, “I-I mean, I know you have Quidditch practice tonight, so I thought maybe we could do something tomorrow night…”

 

Harry’s brain suddenly and painfully reengaged. Tomorrow was Friday, which meant he had Occlumency with Snape in the evening, and he couldn’t tell Lavender. He tried to think quickly, but his mind was still sluggish. Finally, he stammered, “I-I can’t. I’m sorry.”

 

The dark eyes returned to his face full of hurt and embarrassment. She gently pulled her hand away, and Harry realized she thought he didn’t want to be alone with her. “I’m sorry,” he repeated quickly, turning his body to face her. “I want to, but I – have – an appointment.”

 

“An appointment?” she repeated, her eyebrows drawn together sceptically. “With who?”

 

Harry shook his head and looked at his knees. “I can’t tell you – sorry.”

 

“You’re going out with another girl.” She slammed her book shut, shoved it into her bag, and started gathering her notes.

 

“No,” Harry protested, thinking that one girl was more than he could handle. “It’s nothing like that.”

 

“A teacher? You have detention?”

 

“No.” Harry shook his head in frustration. He was horrified to note that tears were forming in her eyes.

 

“I-if you don’t want – to go out with me …” she paused and sniffed a couple of times, “… j-just say so, Harry.” She finished packing her bag and moved to stand. Harry panicked and grabbed her arm to prevent her from leaving. He couldn’t figure out how they had gone from cosily holding hands to arguing within minutes.

 

“Lavender,” he said in a quiet but urgent voice, “please listen to me. I really want to go out with you, but I can’t tomorrow, and I can’t tell you why. Can we do it another time? I don’t have anything Saturday night.”

 

She sniffed again and regarded him. The hurt had faded from her eyes only to be replaced with rabid curiosity. “I don’t understand why you can’t tell me,” she said. Harry cringed at the whiney tone. Then something seemed to click into place in her expression. “It has to do with You-Know-Who – with the war, doesn’t it? Please tell me,” she begged.

 

The desire to be alone with Lavender was strong, but his desire to protect the Order of the Phoenix was stronger. She hadn’t told anyone about his detentions with Umbridge, but it was something entirely different to risk exposing Snape.

 

“Look, Lavender,” he said, trying not to let his irritation show in his voice, “I like – hanging around with you, and there’s nothing I’d rather do than go out with you, but if we’re going to continue to – go out – you’re going to have to accept that there’s things – certain parts of my life that – I can’t talk about. It’s nothing personal. I just can’t tell anyone.” He took her hand and cradled it between both of his. “Now – please – can we go out Saturday night? A moonlight walk sounds great.”

 

Lavender looked at their clasped hands for a moment and then deep into Harry’s eyes. He felt the flutter in his stomach again. “Okay,” she whispered, gently pulling her hand away. She stood and shouldered her bag, saying, “I’ve got to drop my books off before dinner – I’ll see you later.” She hesitated a moment, and then leaned over to drop a quick kiss on his cheek before rushing away.

 

Harry stared after her, bewildered that he could be irritated almost to the point of anger one minute and feeling as though his heart would burst with happiness the next. His hand went to his still-burning cheek involuntarily as a huge, silly grin spread across his face.

 

*************************************************************

 

After dinner Saturday evening, Harry went to his dormitory and changed into the one pair of jeans he owned that didn’t have to be held up by a belt and a clean jumper that was only a little too large for him. Ron came in and smirked at him as he was tying his trainers. Harry took one look at his face and said, “Shut up.”

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Ron protested.

 

“You were going to,” Harry said in a grumpy tone.

 

Ron only shrugged and his eyes became even more amused. As Harry brushed by him to leave, Ron whispered, “Have fun snogging!”

 

Harry gave him a look that he hoped was filled with distain, but he suspected his expression more closely resembled terror since Ron’s smirk became even broader.

 

The moon was waxing away from its first quarter and hung low in the sky, making it look like an oddly-shaped yellow paper cut-out. Harry was able to relax as he and Lavender slowly made their way toward the lake hand in hand, chatting lightly about inconsequential matters. A rock the size of a boulder loomed in their path, and they pulled themselves up to sit on it. They lapsed into a comfortable silence as they watched the moon’s reflection glittering on the lake. Harry felt a shudder go through Lavender’s arm, and he realized she was shivering.

 

“Are you cold?” he asked in a whisper, reluctant to break the silence.

 

“A little.”

 

“Do you want to go in?”

 

She turned her dark eyes to him, and he saw a miniature moon reflected in each of them. “No.”

 

Harry took a deep breath, screwed up his courage, and put his arm around her shoulders, enveloping her back in his cloak. She snuggled closer and rested her head on his shoulder. Harry was sure that if she couldn’t hear his heart pounding furiously, she could at least see vibrations against his ribs.

 

“The moon is beautiful tonight,” she commented a little breathlessly.

 

“It’ll be full in a few days,” Harry said, thinking of Remus.

 

“How do you remember that?” she asked, turning her head to look him in the eye. “You’re not even taking Astronomy this year.”

 

He didn’t feel like telling her his legal guardian was a werewolf, and her face was so close to his that it was driving all thought from his mind, so he simply closed the gap between them and brushed her lips with his.

 

It felt nice. He pulled his head back slightly and searched her face; she was smiling, so he assumed she had no objections, and he kissed her again. She put her hands behind his neck, pulling him closer, and he snaked his free arm around her waist.

 

When he had kissed Cho he hadn’t been able to think at all, but he found that when he was kissing Lavender he was constantly wondering if he was doing it correctly. However, it didn’t appear that his partner had any objections to his technique, if her enthusiasm was any indication.

 

They finally pulled back from each other, breathless, and he revelled in the feeling of her body heat as she wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled against him. Between its urgent pounding and the swelling with happiness, he thought his heart might burst out of his chest. He tried to force himself to relax, but found his entire body was still tingling and tense. His thoughts were involuntarily drifting to topics that brought a blush to his cheeks, making him grateful for the semi-darkness.

 

“Harry?” whispered the girl in his arms, snapping his thoughts back to the present.

 

“Yeah?” He turned his head to face her and couldn’t resist kissing her again.

 

“I really like you – a lot,” she told him after they broke apart, causing a warm feeling to start in his stomach and slowly spread into his limbs. “But why do you have to be so mysterious?”

 

The warm feeling suddenly disappeared. “M-mysterious?” he stammered.

 

“Yeah,” she whispered, turning her face toward him again. But this time he had no desire to kiss her. “Like where you go on Friday nights. And Tuesdays, for that matter.”

 

“I can tell you about Tuesdays - I’m Professor Shacklebolt’s assistant – I help him on Tuesday nights,” he told her, using the cover story, but painfully aware that it was a lie.

 

“And why you keep having run-ins with You-Know-Who,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Is he still trying to kill you since he failed when you were a baby?”

 

Harry stifled a gasp at the accuracy of her assumptions. He was starting to get irritated, but wanted to try to salvage the evening without giving her any information, so he chose his words carefully. “It might bother him that he failed to kill me,” he said with a shrug, trying to convey that he had no idea what was going through the Dark Lord’s mind. “But my meetings with him are probably coincidence.”

 

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t believe it. I think you’re training to fight him. But why?”

 

Harry schooled his face to show amusement and forced a laugh. “Come on, now. Why would a sixteen-year-old kid be training to fight Vo- You-Know-Who?”

 

He caught the embarrassment in her eyes before she turned her head to look at the lake. “Well, if you put it that way, it does sound ridiculous,” she admitted.

 

It is ridiculous – I’m in a ridiculous situation, he thought to himself. He said, “Can we talk about something else? I don’t want to talk about You-Know-Who.” She turned her head back to face him, and he brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Or even better – let’s not talk at all…” He gave her a long, lingering kiss, surprising himself with his boldness. Her lips and tongue started driving all thoughts of private lessons and Voldemort from his mind. He thoroughly enjoyed having this escape from the ridiculous reality that was his life and knew it would be ruined if he was forced to share any of his secrets with her.

 

She finally pulled back, gasping for air, and settled her head on his shoulder again. “But it still bugs me that Hermione and Ron know all your secrets,” she said as if there hadn’t been a pause in the conversation.

 

“They don’t know everything,” he said with a sigh, disappointed at being forced to remember the prophecy, the secret that he couldn’t bring himself to tell his best friends.

 

“Don’t bother to deny it,” she said with narrow eyes.

 

“Of course they’re going to know some things about me that you don’t,” Harry said, starting to feel exasperated. “They’ve been my best friends since I was eleven – they’ve lived through most of it with me. It’s nothing personal.”

 

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because tears welled up in Lavender’s eyes. “It is personal,” she argued, pulling away from him. “You should be able to tell your girlfriend anything you can tell your mates.”

 

“Girlfriend?” Harry asked, bewildered.

 

That was definitely the wrong thing to say. She angrily pushed herself off the rock and slid to the ground. “Well – yeah,” she spat, one hand on her hip, “unless you just go around snogging whomever you please.” She turned and started striding quickly toward the castle. Harry sat still for a moment, stunned, and then slid down from the boulder to follow her.

 

“Lavender…”

 

She stopped and turned to face him. “Who were you snogging Friday night, Harry, when you were too busy to go out with me?” Without giving him a chance to answer, she turned her back on him and stormed to the castle.

 

“No one – I tried to tell you!” he shouted at her back, but she didn’t even slow her stride. He angrily wondered why he had ever bothered with her as he followed her to the common room and watched her run up the stairs to her dormitory.

 

*************************************************************

 

Harry was propped in bed trying to read his Defence Against the Dark Arts text when Ron entered the room. “You’re back early,” he commented. “That’s not good, is it?”

 

“Probably not,” Harry answered, not really wanting to talk about his date. But he knew Ron wouldn’t let it go, and he wasn’t disappointed.

 

“What happened?” he demanded. “Did you kiss her?”

 

“Yes,” said Harry, hoping Ron would take the hint from his succinct answer.

 

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

 

Harry sighed and closed the book. Ron was his best friend, after all. “It would have been a lot better if she had kept her mouth shut.”

 

“I think it’s better when they open their mouths,” Ron said with the superior air of experience, even though Harry knew for a fact that Hermione was the only girl he had ever kissed.

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry said with a blush. “She kept asking me questions about Voldemort and where I go in the evenings. She didn’t understand why I can share things with you and Hermione, but not her. She thinks she’s my girlfriend.”

 

“Isn’t she?”

 

Harry gave another heavy sigh. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “She’s pretty mad at me right now. Besides, I’m not sure if I can have a girlfriend. It just gives Voldemort another target, after all. And I have to have so many secrets.” He set his book on the floor and shrugged. “I’m really too busy for a girlfriend, anyway. I’m barely keeping up with my homework.” He suddenly felt very tired and gave a head-splitting yawn. “I think I’m going to bed.”

 

Ron gave him a long look with an unreadable expression. “You know,” he began slowly, “I’m knackered myself.” He gave an exaggerated stretch and then began to rummage in his trunk, presumably for his pyjamas.

 

“It’s early,” Harry protested. “Go be with your girlfriend.”

 

“Nah – it’s okay.” Ron looked away from Harry and said, “She’s not expecting me back. When we came back to the common room a few minutes ago, she went up to her dormitory to get her Potions book. When she came back down, she told me Lavender was upstairs.”

 

Harry’s feelings of angst disappeared as he realized that Ron had chosen to come upstairs and talk to him instead of spending the remainder of the evening with Hermione. He caught his friend’s eye and smiled gratefully. The boys changed and crawled into their beds, and despite declarations of sleepiness, talked late into the night.

 

*************************************************************

 

For the next few days, Lavender completely ignored Harry, and he found he didn’t mind at all. Hermione kept shooting him sympathetic glances and looking like she was dying to speak, especially when she was walking hand-in-hand through the corridors with Ron. Harry was relieved that she restrained herself from asking him about the date, and assumed that Ron must have told her about it.

 

By Wednesday, Harry felt his anger abating and was actually pleased when Lavender sat beside him at lunch. They took seats together in Transfiguration as if by unspoken agreement. Harry found himself thinking of their kisses as he reached under the table to take her hand. They couldn’t hold hands very long, since both needed their right hands to take notes, but Lavender’s smile told him that she appreciated the gesture.

 

As the week went on, Harry and Lavender continued to sit together at meals and in the classes they shared. They spent their free time in the library or the common room, sometimes with Ron and Hermione and other times with Seamus and Parvati. Harry held Lavender’s hand at every opportunity, and on Friday morning, when he walked her to Divination, he worked up the courage to quickly brush her lips with his, right in front of the entire sixth year N.E.W.T. level class.

 

Lavender never raised the issues they had argued about, much to Harry’s relief. However, part of his mind wondered if she was only trying a different approach. He couldn’t help speculating that she might worm her way into his affections and then start demanding answers once again. He also wondered if he would have the strength to resist telling everything if he let his emotions for her run too deep. So he tried to relax and enjoy her company, while at the same time keeping himself from caring too much.

 

On Saturday afternoon, Harry landed smoothly on the Quidditch pitch and shouldered his broom as practice ended. The rest of the team joined him straight away, Ron gave a few verbal pointers, and they all went into the changing rooms to shower before dinner.

 

Harry found himself lingering in the shower, trying to relax in the steaming water. He had a date with Lavender that night, another moonlight stroll, the first time they had been alone since their last disastrous outing. He wondered if he would be able to forget himself in blissful kissing, or if he would be slammed with ruthless questioning instead.

 

“Oi, Harry, trying to drown yourself?” Ron asked. Harry peered over the wall of the shower stall and saw his friend looking back at him, fully dressed, broom resting casually on his shoulder. “I’m going on up to dinner – Hermione’s expecting me.”

 

“Go on,” Harry said in a tired voice. “I’ll be along.”

 

The changing room was empty by the time Harry finally turned off the shower. His entire body was ruddy as if with a strange fever and his fingers and toes were shrivelled like prunes. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he went to retrieve his clothes and began to dress slowly.

 

A voice behind him startled him. “Accio, wand!” Harry turned and watched helplessly as his wand flew off the bench, across the room, and into the outstretched hand of Draco Malfoy.

 

Harry dropped his shirt on the floor and balled his hands into fists at his sides. “Give me my wand, Malfoy!” he growled.

 

The Slytherin leaned against the wall and twirled the wand between his thumb and forefinger. “When I’m ready,” he said in a quiet but intense voice, his normal drawl gone. “First you’re going to answer a question.”

 

Harry felt very vulnerable without his wand, and the anger already burning in his stomach started creeping upward, making his chest tighten and his head pound. He strode toward Malfoy, but the blond brandished his own wand, causing the Gryffindor to stop dead. “I’m not answering anything,” said Harry, his voice growing louder. “Give me back my wand!”

 

Malfoy took a step toward Harry, but the bespectacled boy held his ground. “You will tell me what I want to know,” said Malfoy, his voice growing quieter, “and you will tell me the truth, or I will make good on the promise I made last spring.”

 

The Gryffindor thought quickly. The Slytherin had threatened to kill him last spring, but if Malfoy had really intended to hurt him, he’d already had plenty of opportunity to do so. If he could keep him talking, maybe he could think of a way out of this. He folded his arms. “What do you want to know?”

 

“I want you to tell me what happened that night at the Ministry.” Harry thought he saw a flicker of pain in the grey eyes, but he could have been mistaken. “I want to know why my father is in Azkaban.”

 

Suddenly, the details of the discussion he had overheard between Malfoy and Snape came flooding back, and he felt his stomach clench at the image of Narcissa Malfoy bleeding after being tortured. His roller-coaster relationship with Lavender had driven the conversation completely from his mind.

 

“Potter,” Malfoy urged, taking another step forward.

 

“Your father’s in Azkaban because he’s a Death Eater, Malfoy! Don’t tell me you didn’t know that. Or didn’t you know that following a murderous psychopath is illegal in this country?”

 

“People don’t go to prison just because of their political views, Potter,” Malfoy retorted, his eyes narrowing in anger.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Harry exclaimed with a bitter laugh. “You think your father just goes to pep rallies? He’s a murderer, Malfoy!”

 

“My father didn’t kill your godfather, Potter!” Malfoy spat between clenched teeth. “Admit it - they just put Father in Azkaban because they thought they were protecting the Boy-Who-Lived. As if the Dark Lord would spare a thought for the likes of you.”

 

Harry just stared at him, feeling stunned. He couldn’t believe the son of a leading Death Eater really knew nothing about the prophecy. However, he wasn’t about to tell his nemesis something he hadn’t even shared with his best friends, so he turned his attention to Malfoy’s original question.

 

“You want to know what happened that night?” he said, taking step toward the Slytherin, his hands balled into fists at his sides again. “Fine. Your ‘upstanding-member-of-the-wizarding-community father’ was in charge of the other Death Eaters, who outnumbered us two-to-one. He o-“ Harry swallowed and forced his voice to remain steady. “Your father ordered the other Death Eaters to kill my friends. That makes him a murderer. He’s responsible for Sirius’s death and for almost killing Hermione.” Harry’s tone dared the blond to defy him.

 

A flicker of surprise shot across Malfoy’s face, but it was gone in an instant, and his grey eyes resumed their cold anger. “You’re lying! My father went to the Ministry all the time to talk to Fudge and other high-ranking officials. He wasn’t there to fight a battle with a bunch of kids.”

 

“Well, you’re certainly right about that,” Harry retorted in a sarcastic tone. “Your father wasn’t there to fight a battle. He was there to take what Voldemort wanted and kill us.”

 

“You’re lying!” Malfoy shouted again, taking a step forward with his wand levelled at Harry’s chest. “You’d better start telling me the truth, you filthy half-blood, or you’re dead!”

 

“Bit ironic, you people obsessing about pure blood all the time, considering your Dark Lord had a Muggle father,” Harry said recklessly, ignoring the death threat. “I’m more of a pure-blood than he is.”

 

“How dare y—you take that back!” the Slytherin sputtered.

 

“Can’t,” Harry said with a grin. “It’s true. He told me himself.”

 

Malfoy’s eyes threatened to bug out of his head and his face was almost as red as Harry’s Quidditch robes. “I’ll kill you!” he screamed, taking another step forward. His wand was only inches from Harry’s chest now. Harry had never seen him so angry, and it occurred to him that if he hadn’t already faced Voldemort numerous times he might be frightened of the Slytherin in this state. However, his Gryffindor boldness took over.

 

“You don’t have the nerve.”

 

“Avada Kedavra!” Harry’s mouth and eyes widened in shock just before the green light hit him and everything went black.

 

*******************************************

 

More Author’s Notes: Talk about being “late” for a date! Think this excuse will work with Lavender? Sorry – couldn’t resist. Now, I wouldn’t kill my main character, would I? *cackles evilly and rubs hands together*


	7. Surprises

AUTHOR’S NOTES: As always, many thanks to Ginnysdarkside, Swishandflick, and Gianfar! I’m sorry this chapter took so long – I had some technical difficulties, which I whined about in my Live Journal, so thanks to all my LJ friends as well! I also restructured the chapter a bit after Swishandflick looked at it, based on his comments, and I think it came out much better. Thanks to my reviewers – that’s what keeps me writing!

 

 

“Though one may be overpowered,

two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”

Ecclesiastes 4:12

 

 

The first thing Harry saw when he opened his eyes was something shiny and blurry. He blinked a few times and realized there were actually two shiny things.

 

“Good morning, Harry.” He jumped at the sudden voice and then slowly began to realize that he was looking into the face of Albus Dumbledore, whose glasses were glittering in the candlelight.

 

“Where am I?”

 

“You are in my office.” Dumbledore gently positioned Harry’s glasses over his eyes, enabling him to see the indecipherable expression on the Headmaster’s face.

 

Harry suddenly sat up as the memories came flooding back. “I’m not dead! Malfoy – he tried to kill me – he’s crazy…”

 

“Draco Malfoy has been dealt with,” Dumbledore said, the authority in his voice causing Harry to fall silent. “He is no longer a danger to you.” The old wizard retrieved a goblet from a small, three-legged table nearby. “Your body has taken quite a shock. I must insist you drink this potion, and then there are some things we need to discuss.” He handed Harry the goblet and watched him intently as he drank it. Harry missed the normal twinkle in the headmaster’s eyes.

 

When the goblet was empty, Harry handed it back to Dumbledore and looked around. He was sitting on a cot in the headmaster’s office. The room was bathed in odd, flickering shadows made by the candlelight. It was dark outside, so Harry concluded it must be early in the morning. “How long have I been unconscious?”

 

Dumbledore summoned a chair and sat facing him. “Approximately twelve hours. Miss Brown, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger were worried last night, but I told them you and I had some things to discuss and would likely be talking late into the night. It is early enough that you should be able to sneak back into your dormitory and pretend to wake up in your own bed.”

 

Harry stared at him, puzzled. “Why can’t I just tell them what happened?”

 

The headmaster gave a heavy sigh. “Harry, I must ask you to tell no one what happened last night – not even Remus.”

 

“W-what? Why?” Harry sputtered.

 

“Because it would put Mr. Malfoy in danger. I am certain your friends would be unable to resist retaliation.”

 

It took Harry a moment to process this information, and when he finally did, he was certain he’d heard incorrectly. “He’s not in Azkaban?”

 

Dumbledore looked penetratingly into Harry’s eyes and said, “Mr. Malfoy will remain at Hogwarts.”

 

“W-what?” Harry spat, anger rising in his chest. “You’ve got to be joking – he tried to kill me!” He shook his head and his face reddened. “I don’t believe this – he tried to kill me, and you’re asking me to protect him!”

 

“Mr. Malfoy and I had an extended conversation last night, and I am certain he is no longer a danger to you, Harry. You must trust me in this.”

 

“But – why?”

 

The headmaster looked up at the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, as if asking for help. The man in the portrait was obviously listening intently but smirked and gave a small shrug when he met Dumbledore’s gaze. Dumbledore turned back to Harry and spoke. “If Mr. Malfoy is sent to Azkaban, he will either go insane or escape and join the Death Eaters. If he is allowed to remain here, he will finish his education and possibly become a productive member of society. I see the latter option as the better alternative.”

 

Incredulity replaced some of Harry’s anger and he studied the Headmaster with wide eyes. “But he’ll just join the Death Eaters when he leaves school,” he protested.

 

Dumbledore sighed heavily again. “Possibly,” he admitted. “But I think there is a strong possibility that he will not. I must give him the option to choose his own path.”

 

“He gave up the right to choose anything when he tried to kill me!” Harry shouted. “I don’t see how you can protect him like this! What’s going on with you? Why do you care about him?”

 

“Harry, I know it’s difficult for a student to see the headmaster’s point of view, but I have to think of the welfare of every student in this school. If Mr. Malfoy was a danger to you, I would, of course, have him removed. He made a mistake. I believe he has learned from his mistake and will never try anything like that again. You must trust me in this.”

 

The Gryffindor simply stared at the headmaster, dumbfounded. Malfoy was staying in school! What was the man thinking? He knew he was a little mad, but this seemed particularly crazy. He recovered enough to shake his head slowly at the old wizard. Maybe he could contact the ministry directly to press charges. Malfoy’s wand would corroborate his story.

 

As the plan formulated in his mind, he failed to notice Dumbledore muttering something under his breath. After a moment, he spoke clearly, startling Harry out of his thoughts. “You believe I am wrong about this. You are planning to circumvent my directive.”

 

“O-of course I’m not,” Harry protested, blushing to the roots of his hair.

 

“Do you remember what Bellatrix Lestrange told you when you failed to cause her pain with the Cruciatus Curse?” Dumbledore asked, ignoring his denial.

 

“H-how did you – how d-did – ?” Harry was mortified that the headmaster knew about his attempt to curse the Death Eater in the Ministry of Magic.

 

Dumbledore waved an impatient hand and asked again, “Do you remember what she told you?”

 

Harry’s eyes shut involuntarily as he struggled to focus on the one night he wanted to forget. Lestrange had told him … “Yeah,” he mused aloud, “she told me I didn’t really enjoy inflicting…” His eyes flew open. “Are you trying to tell me that Malfoy couldn’t kill me because he didn’t really want to? Come on – he’s hated me for years!”

 

The headmaster leaned forward in his chair and gazed intently into Harry’s eyes. “How do you feel about Draco Malfoy?”

 

After a pause Harry looked away and admitted, “I guess I hate him.”

 

“And have you ever wished him dead?”

 

Resentment was beginning to rise in Harry’s chest; he felt like he was being manipulated into feeling compassion for the Slytherin. How dare the headmaster compare him with the evil git?

 

“Harry, I am not trying to manipulate you. I’m simply trying to help you see a different point of view.”

 

The Gryffindor gave a snort of derision and lay back on the cot, crossing his arms over his chest. He stared up at the ceiling, willing the tears that were filling his eyes not to spill. Not only was he furious with the headmaster, he felt betrayed, as if Dumbledore were choosing Malfoy over him. But as soon as that thought crossed his mind, he heard the Slytherin’s voice in his head calling him Dumbledore’s pet. He realized he had been expecting to be the headmaster’s favourite, and it hurt that the wizard seemed to be choosing Malfoy’s welfare over his own.

 

“Harry, you know I care about you greatly. I feel our relationship has grown closer than simply headmaster and student. But it is not a betrayal to you if I care about my other students as well.”

 

“Stop doing that!” Harry got up from the cot and stomped over to the window, hands fisting at his sides. “Get out of my head!” Then an idea occurred to him, and he calmed slightly. “You looked into his mind,” he said, turning from the window to look Dumbledore in the eye. “You know he won’t hurt me because you read his intentions in his mind.”

 

Dumbledore gave Harry a long, unreadable look before saying, “You know I cannot tell you that.”

 

Harry nodded, convinced he had solved the puzzle. His anger slowly melted away as he reflected on the headmaster’s words regarding his feelings for him and how much he cared for the old wizard in return. As Harry’s head began to clear, another thought occurred to him; he really deserved to go to Azkaban himself for casting the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix Lestrange, even though it hadn’t worked. Malfoy wasn’t the only one who had made a mistake and escaped punishment.

 

“Another thing to consider while you are looking from a different point of view,” Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair as if feeling more at ease, “is what you were discussing with Mr. Malfoy that made him so angry. I think we all have a bit of a soft spot regarding our parents.”

 

He thought about Dumbledore’s words and remembered that Malfoy seemed genuinely surprised when Harry told him his father was a murderer. He considered the possibility that his words had crushed some of the adulation the Slytherin had for his father. Harry knew what that felt like, having experienced it the previous year.

 

“Okay.” Harry walked over to stand in front of the headmaster’s chair. “Okay,” he repeated. “I won’t tell anyone – as long as he doesn’t threaten me again.”

 

“I expect you to tell me immediately if he does.”

 

Harry nodded once and turned to leave. As he reached the door, a voice behind him said, “Take care, Harry.”

 

He turned and looked back at the headmaster, noting the twinkle had returned to his eyes. He gave a small smile and said, “You too.”

 

****************************************************

 

Harry spent Sunday doing homework in the common room with Ron and Hermione. His friends finally stopped questioning him about his talk with Dumbledore when he threatened to go and study by himself in the library. Lavender was ignoring him again, presumably because of their broken date, but it was difficult for him to feel badly about it when she was shooting him nasty looks from across the room.

 

“What’s her problem?” Harry finally asked out loud, not really expecting an answer.

 

“She’s angry because she thinks you’re telling us about last night,” Hermione said without looking up from her book. “She’s expecting you to approach her and apologize. You really should. I think she’s getting tired of being the one to come to you all the time.”

 

But Harry only shook his head. He was still angry about Malfoy, and he felt it was totally unjustified for him to have to grovel at his girlfriend’s feet after he had almost been killed. He was beginning to feel that Lavender Brown just wasn’t worth the trouble.

 

Ron draped his arm around Hermione and whined, “Oh guru of relationships – what am I supposed to do if I need advice about you?” At his words, Hermione turned to Ron with an adoring expression, and Harry retreated to the dormitory before he had to witness any snogging.

 

They didn’t see Malfoy at all that day; he didn’t show up at any of the meals. Harry was a little nervous about facing the Slytherin, although he would have never admitted it out loud. Despite everything Dumbledore had said, he wasn’t totally convinced Malfoy wouldn’t lose his temper and try to kill him again. It angered him that he now felt fear toward his enemy after five years of simple animosity.

 

The next morning, Harry sat down to breakfast in his usual seat across from Ron. He immediately noticed the red-head’s eyes were narrowed and focused on his plate, though he was barely eating. Harry shot Hermione a questioning glance, and she mouthed, “Percy.” Harry nodded slightly to show he understood. Ron still got angry whenever his dead brother was mentioned; at least this time he wasn’t shouting. He cast around in his sleepy mind for a safe topic, but Hermione spoke first.

 

“Lavender’s being stupid,” she said, apparently catching a glare that Lavender shot at Harry. “I tried to tell her that you wouldn’t even tell Ron and me about your late night with Dumbledore, but she wouldn’t listen. I still think you should try to talk to her.” Harry shrugged and focused on his eggs, not really caring.

 

As they left the Great Hall after breakfast, Hermione said, “Harry, Lavender was asking me about the battle in the Department of Mysteries last year. How much did you tell her?”

 

“I didn’t tell her it was there,” Harry said, irritation obvious in his voice.

 

“I didn’t tell her that, either,” Hermione reassured him. “It’s just that she kept asking me about it.”

 

“I only told her that we left the school and got attacked by Death Eaters. She knew something was up – you were in the hospital wing for a while.”

 

“She seemed really…” Harry looked at Hermione to see why she had stopped talking. Ron was staring at her curiously, drawn out of his funk by her elusiveness. She was chewing her bottom lip, which Harry recognized as a sign of nervousness.

 

“What, Hermione?” urged Ron.

 

“Okay – well, she – er – seemed really interested in – what Neville did while we were there.” Hermione deliberately looked straight ahead. “I told her I was unconscious for most of that,” she said.

 

Harry shrugged. “Well, Neville was very brave,” he said. “He stood up with me against ten Death Eaters, even though his nose was broken and he couldn’t cast a hex. He also withstood Lestrange’s Cruciatus Curse. He probably saved my life – he distracted the Death Eaters just long enough for the Order members to arrive.” Harry couldn’t help smiling a little at the thought of Neville’s loyalty; the clumsy boy’s bravery had really surprised him.

 

“Well,” Hermione said, as they arrived at the classroom. “You don’t have anything to worry about. Neville’s going out with Ginny, after all.” Harry again tried to muster up some emotion about Lavender, but he simply could not. 

 

As Harry walked into the classroom, he nervously looked for Malfoy and saw him sitting at the table closest to the door. The Slytherin looked up as if feeling Harry’s gaze. Malfoy attempted his trademark sneer, but it didn’t reach his eyes; Harry was surprised to see fear reflected there. It hadn’t occurred to the Gryffindor that the person who had attempted to kill him might now be afraid of him, and his own fear faded a little.

 

Malfoy looked away quickly. Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione, but they had walked in ahead of him and hadn’t noticed anything. Harry carefully chose a seat facing away from Malfoy, and tried to put the other boy’s expression out of his mind while he focused on the lecture.

 

Over the next several days, the Slytherin avoided Harry’s eyes and always sat facing away from the Gryffindor table at meals, when he appeared at all. With a feeling of relief, Harry took his cue and pretended Malfoy didn’t exist.

 

Classes went on fairly quietly until Ron accidentally caused a small explosion in Potions one morning. Snape made him stay after class and clean up as well as taking twenty House points and assigning detention with Filch. The Potions Master would not allow Ron’s friends to stay and help so after promising to save him a seat, Harry and Hermione made their way up to lunch alone.

 

As they joined the queue at the entrance to the Great Hall, Harry caught sight of Lavender hanging onto Neville’s arm and laughing up into his face. She glanced in his direction, raising an eyebrow, and then turned back to Neville, batting her eyelashes demurely. “I wish she would stop doing that,” Harry said under his breath.

 

Hermione followed his eyes and frowned. “Yeah, she’s starting to get frustrated that it’s not bothering you, so she’s doing it even more. She’s just trying to make you jealous.” Hermione studied Harry’s face intently. “It’s not working, is it?”

 

“No, I’m not jealous – I really don’t care,” Harry said honestly. “I’m just worried that Ginny might hear about it. I would feel bad if they broke up over this.”

 

“If Ginny and Neville break up, it won’t be over this,” Hermione said cryptically. “Speaking of Ginny, she and I were talking about Ron the other day, and I’ve been looking for a chance to talk to you. He’s not dealing with Percy’s death well at all – you know – you’ve seen it. He’s so angry.”

 

Harry shrugged and looked away. He agreed, but felt he was no expert on the subject. After Sirius’ death, he had felt anger as well, but it was directed at blaming himself and others. Ron’s anger almost seemed to be directed at Percy.

 

“Do you think the Consolari Charm would help him?” Hermione asked.

 

“It helped me,” he answered after a pause. “Think we should give it a go?”

 

They made some plans for the following Saturday and resolved to keep them from Ron until the last minute. Hermione gave Harry a quick hug before running off to find Ginny, leaving him feeling glad that the change in her relationship with Ron hadn’t caused a change in their friendship.

 

*************************************

 

Harry, Hermione, and Ginny led Ron into the Room of Requirement. Harry arched an eyebrow at Hermione behind Ron’s back, silently asking her what reason she had given him for going there. But Hermione only gave a slight shrug and smile, as if to say, “Leave it to me.”

 

When they entered the room, Ron looked around, eyes narrowing as he took it in. The room was set up exactly like it had been for Sirius’s memorial service, though with fewer candles. “What’s all this?” Ron asked. Harry could see his entire body tensing, and he sincerely hoped they were doing the right thing.

 

“We’re having our own little memorial service for Percy,” Ginny answered.

 

“You haven’t been dealing with his death well at all,” Hermione said, moving to stand facing him and taking hold of his hand. “We’re going to perform the Consolari Charm on you, like we did at the memorial service for Sirius. It won’t be as powerful since there are only three of us, but hopefully it will still be effective enough to make the memories more vivid.”

 

Ron jerked his hand out of hers, turned, and stormed to the farthest corner of the room, clenching and unclenching his fists. With his back to them he said, “I’m fine! I don’t need this!”

 

Ginny’s eyes narrowed in irritation. She glanced briefly at Harry and Hermione before walking over to her brother and laying a hand on his shoulder. “You do need it,” she said in a quiet voice. “You’ve been angry and bitter ever since he died, and you refused to participate in the charm at his memorial service.”

 

Ron shrugged off her hand and turned to face her with blazing eyes. “HOW DARE YOU TELL ME WHAT I NEED!” he screamed, seeming to tower over her in his fury. He glanced at Harry and Hermione. “And you two – STAY THE HELL OUT OF MY BUSINESS!”

 

“Ron, you’re being an idiot!” Ginny said, her expression starting to match his.

 

Hermione approached him tentatively and tried to take him into her arms, but he shook her off and backed away. Harry saw tears spring to her eyes as she said, “Ron, we’re only trying to help you. You need to grieve for your brother. Harry says the charm really helps.”

 

“What I need,” Ron seethed, “is to forget about him. If you want to help me, then LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!” He started to storm toward the door, but Ginny grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face her.

 

“HOW DARE YOU!” she screamed into his face. “He was our brother!”

 

“HE WAS A BLOODY DEATH EATER!” he screamed, his nose almost touching Ginny’s.

 

Ginny took a step back, balled up her fist, and hit Ron in the face with all her might. Ron staggered from the blow, almost falling, and his hand went automatically to his cheek.

 

“LIAR!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face. She turned and fled from the room, slamming the door behind her.

 

The others stood frozen for a moment. Finally Hermione tentatively said, “Ron?”

 

Her voice seemed to wake him out of his shock. He backed up to the wall, slid down it to sit on the floor, and buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t want her to know,” he mumbled into his hands.

 

“It’s true?” Hermione almost shouted. She knelt beside him and in a calmer voice asked, “How do you know?”

 

Harry was reeling from this news. Percy, a Death Eater? Sure, he had supported the Ministry instead of his family the previous year, but could ambition have really caused him to turn his back on everything he’d been brought up to believe? Harry had always thought of Percy’s ambition as something of a joke that the twins had teased him about, but he was suddenly forced to realize how deadly ambition could be. He sank slowly to the ground as Ron began speaking in a flat, emotionless voice.

 

“He came to see me a couple of days before the fire. They must have been watching the house – I was the only one home.” He raised his head, but avoided looking at his friends. “I don’t think he had actually taken the Dark Mark, or everyone would have known when he…” Ron swallowed and continued. “But he kept referring to his powerful friends and saying things like ‘the way the wind is blowing’ and ‘a change in the current regime’.”

 

“Did he hurt you?” Hermione asked softly. Ron turned his head to look at his girlfriend, but seemed to struggle to focus on her.

 

“No,” he answered in the same dull voice. “He only tied me up and threatened me. I don’t think he had the nerve to hurt me.”

 

He looked at Harry, who was shocked at the mixture of anger, hatred, and grief he saw swirling in his friend’s eyes. “He tried to feed me the same load of rubbish that he put in his letter last year. You remember – how hanging around with you could ruin my future, how misguided my parents were. Only this time, there was a bit of a threat behind his words. He made it clear that my life would be in danger if I didn’t start feeding him information about you.” Ron sniffed and looked away, but Harry saw the tears forming in his eyes. “He wanted me to betray my best friend.”

 

Harry and Hermione sat silently for a long moment. Harry was still trying to wrap his mind around this stunning bit of information, but then another thought occurred to him that made him feel warm inside. Ron had refused to betray him, even when threatened; Ron had chosen loyalty to Harry over loyalty to a family member.

 

Hermione finally laid a hand on Ron’s arm and said, “Ron, Percy did a terrible thing, and you have every right to be angry. But he was still your brother …”

 

“NO! He was NOT my brother! I only have FOUR brothers!” Hermione snatched her hand away with fearful eyes, but Ron clenched and unclenched his fists a few times, as if to calm himself, and turned his tearstained face toward Harry. “No,” he said in a calm voice. “I do have five brothers. Harry, you’ve been much more of a brother to me than Percy ever was.”

 

Harry managed to stifle the choke that welled up in his throat in reaction to Ron’s words, but a tear escaped one eye. He wiped at it impatiently, but refused to break eye contact with his friend. Love welled up in his heart and he couldn’t help a tiny smile, despite the horrible situation. “Thanks, Ron,” he managed to whisper, swiping at another tear.

 

Ron nodded and started to shake, burying his head in his hands again. Hermione took him in her arms and murmured quiet words of comfort against his hair. After a few minutes of watching Hermione caress Ron’s back while his misery poured out, Harry began to feel awkward, like an intruder into a private moment. It occurred to Harry that Ron might feel more comfortable expressing his grief with his girlfriend instead of another boy, even if it was his best friend.

 

As he rose to his feet, Hermione looked up. “I-I’ll leave you two alone,” he stammered almost inaudibly.

 

Harry was relieved at the complete understanding he saw in Hermione’s face. “I’ll take care of him,” she whispered. Harry nodded once and slipped from the room.

 

He strode quickly along the seventh floor corridor toward Gryffindor Tower. He was so preoccupied with the thoughts and emotions swirling through his mind that he was startled by the figure huddled against the wall. Ginny was sitting on the floor, crying into her hands. He looked around wildly for help, but the corridor was deserted. Ginny hadn’t seen him; it would be easy to continue to the common room, but somehow he couldn’t just leave her there alone. She looked up, startled, when he sat on the floor next to her.

 

“Why would he say such a thing?” Ginny asked without preamble. Harry shrugged, trying to make his face impassive, remembering that Ron hadn’t wanted her to know. She searched his face and said, “Oh, Merlin, it’s true, isn’t it?” She sighed and buried her face in her hands again.

 

“I’m sorry.” It seemed like a stupid thing to say, but Harry couldn’t do any better. He shifted uncomfortably and wondered for a moment why he hadn’t kept walking.

 

She raised her head slightly and peeked through her fingers. “This will kill Mum and Dad.”

 

“I don’t think you should tell them,” Harry said without hesitation. “Ron didn’t mean for you to know – he didn’t want anyone to know.”

 

“I remember him reading to me when I was little,” she said as though Harry hadn’t spoken, putting her hands in her lap and turning her gaze to the wall. “They say he learned to read when he was four. And when the twins would hide my stuffed animals to tease me, he was always the one to bring them back to me. And that year…” Ginny made a choking noise and put one hand over her mouth. “My first year … he was the only one who paid attention to me…” Her face went back into her hands, and her shoulders began to shake.

 

Harry had the crazy urge to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he was terrified of her reaction. So he did nothing, only sat there, physically close, but really miles away, until her shaking stopped and she lifted her tear-stained face to regard him.

 

“S-sorry,” she stammered. “I know I sound really stupid.”

 

“No you don’t,” Harry answered. A thought started to form in his head, and he wondered if he could communicate it to Ginny. “You know, I think – maybe – you should remember those – good things about Percy, and try to forget – what Ron told you.” He paused and shrugged. “He was a good person for most of his life.”

 

A shout from down the corridor made them both jump. Parvati was almost running to keep up with Seamus, shouting at him with all her might. From the little Harry could understand he surmised that she had caught him snogging a Hufflepuff fifth year. It looked as though Seamus was trying to get away from the irate girl; he kept glancing over his shoulder with a mixture of amusement and fear. They were so intent on each other that they didn’t even see Harry and Ginny.

 

Harry shook his head and turned back to Ginny. He noticed that amusement had begun to replace the sadness in her eyes, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he wouldn’t be expected to comfort her further. Unfortunately, the subject she raised next wasn’t any more comfortable to Harry than the previous topic.

 

“So, how’s Lavender?” Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

Harry blushed despite his best efforts not to. “Fine … Not too good, actually,” he confessed, carefully looking away from Ginny. “I-I think she’s – interested in – someone else.”

 

“Yeah,” Ginny agreed. “I do, too. Unfortunately, I think it’s my boyfriend. Sorry about that.”

 

“Don’t be – I’m the one who should apologize,” Harry said. “It never worked very well between us, anyway. It’s difficult having to constantly hide things from her.”

 

Ginny waved aside his apology. “What do you mean ‘hide things’?” she asked.

 

“You know – Occlumency lessons, defence lessons, the Order of the Phoenix, my connection with Voldemort…”

 

“I know what you mean,” Ginny said, nodding.

 

“You do?” Harry asked, wondering what secrets Ginny had to hide.

 

“Yeah. Neville and I just started having some – problems.” She looked toward the nearest window, as if avoiding his gaze.

 

“Problems?” prompted Harry, his curiosity piqued.

 

It seemed as if Ginny was ignoring him, and Harry began to feel embarrassed for prying. As he started to consider escaping to the common room, she began to speak, her eyes still focused on the window. “The other day Neville and I were studying in the library and I fell asleep. I had a nightmare about my – my first year, and apparently caused quite a ruckus. Neville was – er – pretty annoyed that I wouldn’t talk to him about – about my dream.” Her eyes filled with tears, and one began to leak. Harry had the odd urge to wipe the tear away and balled his hands at his sides. “He doesn’t understand – I can’t talk about that time to anyone – I did such horrible things…”

 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Harry reminded her, anger toward Voldemort rising in his chest.

 

She wiped her face impatiently and gave him a small smile. “I know that, Harry. At least my head knows it, even if my heart still hasn’t accepted it.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket, blew her nose, and stood up. “Sorry – I’m being silly. I’ve got to go finish my homework. I’ll see you later, okay?”

 

Harry nodded and watched her climb through the portrait hole. He had never considered that Ginny might still be having nightmares about the year she was forced to act as the Heir of Slytherin. He thought again of Percy and vowed to himself that Voldemort would not be allowed to hurt another Weasley.

 

 

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Okay, the bad news. Chapter eight has been started, as well as nine, but it may take me awhile to finish, because we’re having to unexpectedly remodel our house. I’m hoping to have it out by the end of April, if not before. (I should be able to post more quickly once school is out and I’m home more often.) If you want to keep up with my progress, check out my Live Journal. You might even see a teaser for the next chapter!

 

Cindale’s Live Journal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/cindale/

 

Cindale’s Yahoo Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HPFicsbyCindaleGDS/?yguid=148770661


	8. Out of Bounds

Author’s Notes: Sorry this chapter took so long, but real life got in the way. Chapter nine is done, and should be posted next week. I have a new Yahoo Group. It says you have to be 18 to join, but you really don’t – I accidentally put it in the wrong category and don’t know how to move it. Link: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/fictionbycindale/

 

 

“Though one may be overpowered,

two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”

Ecclesiastes 4:12

 

 

“Mr. Potter, a word?” Professor Shacklebolt said as the bell rang, signifying the end of Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Harry smiled a goodbye to Ron and Hermione and hurried to the front of the classroom.

 

When the room was empty, the professor looked up at Harry with a serious expression. “We need to supplement our lessons about magical combat with a discussion of your specific experience. I think it would be beneficial to your training if we analyse your experience at the Department of Mysteries during our session tomorrow night.”

 

Harry’s heart sank; he had been trying to forget that night for months. But he couldn’t help being grateful to Shacklebolt for warning him. He swallowed hard and answered, “Okay.” The professor looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded his dismissal.

 

Harry left the classroom quickly and headed to the library to meet Ron, as was their custom on Mondays. He pretended to study, but he kept reading the same paragraph over and over in his Charms text. Thankfully, Ron didn’t notice his preoccupation; he was too involved in finishing his Potions essay for the next day. Harry really didn’t feel like discussing his conversation with Shacklebolt.

 

As they walked to the Great Hall for lunch, Ron talked about Quidditch tactics while Harry nodded and pretended to listen. He served himself some food without really noticing what it was and proceeded to eat it without tasting it. He didn’t notice Hermione enter until she spoke.

 

“What’s going on with Malfoy?” she asked as she sat down in her usual spot next to Ron.

 

“What do you mean?” Harry said, his curiosity piqued enough to pull him out of his reverie. He and Malfoy had been carefully ignoring each other ever since the ”incident” in the changing room three weeks before. Harry’s gaze was drawn to the Slytherin table, but Malfoy was not there; he had been absent from many meals lately.

 

Ron’s face darkened in anger; he obviously believed the Slytherin had been harassing his girlfriend. “Did he hurt you?”

 

“No, no, nothing like that,” Hermione said with a nervous glance at Ron and a dismissive wave of her hand. “Just now, on my way here, I was trying to adjust my book bag, so I wasn’t really looking where I was going. I ploughed right into him. There wasn’t really anyone around, so he could have easily hexed me, or at the very least called me nasty names. But when I apologized, he avoided my eyes and walked away.” She paused and regarded the sunny blue sky above. “You know, the weirdest part is that he actually looked a little …” She looked at Ron and bit her lip.

 

Harry felt he would burst if Hermione didn’t finish. “What did he look like?” Ron and Hermione both turned to stare at him as he leaned back a little, crossing his arms in an effort to convey only casual curiosity. He shrugged and said, “I just wondered.”

 

Hermione bit her lip again. “Well, I thought he almost looked afraid – but that’s silly, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah,” Ron said, as Harry nodded in agreement. “Too bad though – now I don’t have an excuse to hex him.”

 

Harry forced a laugh at that, but inside he was desperately curious. He had wondered about the fearful glances Malfoy had given him right after the ”incident”, but at least he understood them to some extent. What surprised him was to hear that the Slytherin seemed afraid of Hermione as well. That didn’t make sense at all.

 

*******************************************

 

For the first time, Harry was dreading his training session with Professor Shacklebolt. The memories from the Department of Mysteries were still painful, and Harry avoided them as much as possible.

 

When Harry arrived in the classroom, he immediately realized it was worse than he had anticipated. Professor Shacklebolt was waiting on the floor next to a Pensieve. He knew he would have to hash through his memories aloud with the Auror, but he didn’t know they would have Professor Shacklebolt’s memories of the battle to literally walk through as well. At least Shacklebolt had only been there during the second part of the battle, and he had been busy duelling when Sirius had fallen through the veil.

 

“Hi, Harry,” said the professor with a cheerfulness that sounded a bit false. “I thought it would be easier to analyse things if we had the most realistic visual aids possible.”

 

“Okay,” Harry said, trying to hide his reluctance. “I-I can fill you in on what happened before you got there.”

 

Shacklebolt’s eyes narrowed for a moment, and then widened again as he realized what Harry meant. “No, Harry. The Pensieve is for you. We’re going to look at the battle from your point of view.” Harry felt the blood drain from his face and saw the Auror looking at him strangely. “Do you want Remus here – for moral support?” he asked.

 

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head firmly, “it would be painful for him, too. I-I can handle it.”

 

“Are you sure? We can postpone this.”

 

Harry finally realized the expression on Shacklebolt’s face was one of compassion. The idea of needing that level of concern from the professor annoyed him for some reason. He was determined to show the Auror that he could handle the memories just fine, so he looked him in the eye and repeated, “I can handle it.”

 

“Okay, then,” said Shacklebolt, “the number one rule to remember in combat is to refuse to let your emotions cloud your judgement.” His eyes were serious, yet Harry felt as though he had passed some sort of test.

 

The Auror stood and pulled out his wand. “The incantation for the Pensieve is ‘Memoria Extractus’ – you say that while pointing your wand at your temple.” He demonstrated the same wand motion Harry had seen Dumbledore and Snape perform. “You also have to concentrate on the specific memory you want to extract. I understand you are partially familiar with this process?” Harry nodded. “Good. While your memories are in the Pensieve, they will only be available to you in that form – they’re no longer in your head. But anyone can view them in the Pensieve. That’s why very few people use them – they’re a potential invasion of privacy.”

 

Shacklebolt nodded toward the Pensieve expectantly and Harry knelt beside it. He focused his thoughts on the events at the Department of Mysteries, pointed his wand at his head, and muttered the incantation. It felt as if the inside of his head was being tickled as he pulled out the silvery strands and put them into the Pensieve.

 

“Is it all in there?” Shacklebolt asked.

 

Harry tried to recall the memories, but everything after the thestrals landed at the visitor’s entrance to the Ministry of Magic was a blank. However, he could remember Sirius falling through the veil and the events after that point. He gave a sigh and said, “No.” He performed the incantation again, and grimaced as he pulled out the uncomfortable memories, which flickered across his eyes like an old movie reel. When his memories resumed in Dumbledore’s office after the battle, he said, “Okay. It’s all in there.”

 

“Do you know how to get in?” the professor asked, kneeling on the floor beside the Pensieve.

 

“Yes,” Harry answered. Shacklebolt grabbed Harry’s shoulder, as if to guide him, and together they leaned their heads over the side of the Pensieve.

 

Harry watched himself and his five friends descend from the thestrals’ backs and cram themselves into the Muggle telephone box. He had never watched himself inside a Pensieve before; it rather reminded him of the time he and Hermione had gone back in time three hours to save Sirius and Buckbeak.

 

“Thestrals,” Shacklebolt breathed beside him. “I’ve never ridden one before. You’ll have to tell me about it later.” Harry nodded in agreement as they walked over to the telephone box to listen. “First mistake I see,” the professor said as the six friends sank into the ground. “You announced to whoever was listening your names and the purpose of your visit. So much for stealth.”

 

Harry looked around in alarm as the ground, buildings, and sky began to fade away. “Er – shouldn’t we be in the telephone box?”

 

“We’ll go down shortly,” Shacklebolt said. As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry felt a gentle pulling, not unlike a Portkey, and he suddenly found himself looking into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. He followed himself and his friends as they passed by the fountain and into the lifts.

 

“Didn’t you wonder why the place was deserted?” asked Shacklebolt.

 

“Actually, I did,” said Harry, “b-but I didn’t think too much about it. I was focused on trying to sa – I was focused on something else.”

 

“Logic would dictate that something is ‘off’ here. It’s not very late – there should still be a few people milling about, there should probably be someone at the security desk. When you’ve had some experience as an Auror, you will develop a sense about these things. Right now, even without the logic, this just feels wrong to me. It’s too perfect – quiet, no one around – understand?”

 

Harry nodded. He noticed the professor had said when he’d had some experience, as if his becoming an Auror was inevitable. That assumption cheered him somewhat.

 

The professor continued to make occasional comments as they followed the group into the Department of Mysteries and watched them face the Death Eaters. When the chase began, they found they had to run to keep up with “Memory” Harry, Hermione, and Neville. Harry couldn’t help but wince when Hermione was hit with the purple light and again when Neville was kicked in the face. He felt the familiar anger with himself; if he hadn’t been fooled by his vision from Voldemort, none of his friends would have been hurt.

 

They followed as “Memory” Harry led Neville and Hermione out of the Time Room, watching as they met up with the others and were discovered by the Death Eaters. When his memory self led the Death Eaters from the room, Harry wanted to stay and see if the others were all right, but as before, the room began to fade around him and he felt himself tugged into the Death Chamber.

 

Neville was standing beside “Memory” Harry, facing the Death Eaters with blood still dripping from his nose. When Neville was under the Cruciatus Curse, Shacklebolt said, “I knew Longbottom’s parents. He’s just as courageous as they were. I wish they could see him.” Harry smiled to himself and resolved to repeat that comment to Neville.

 

A few moments later, the Order members ran into the room. Harry tried to watch Shacklebolt’s battle with two Death Eaters, but his eyes were unwillingly drawn to Sirius’s ill-fated duel with Bellatrix Lestrange. He wanted to look away, but his gaze was frozen on Sirius as he watched him fall through the veil all over again. He felt the professor’s eyes on him, but refused to glance in his direction. Instead, he forced himself to think about Ron’s latest Quidditch strategy, and soon felt his heart slow as the tension eased out of his body.

 

As his memory self ran from the room to confront Bellatrix Lestrange, Shacklebolt moved to follow, but Harry grabbed his arm to stop him. “Aren’t we finished? When you lot arrived, the battle was pretty much over for me.”

 

The professor shot him an annoyed look, but then his features softened. Harry found himself wondering if he could use the Auror’s sympathy to his advantage. He hadn’t liked watching Sirius die again, but he definitely didn’t want his professor to see him casting an Unforgivable Curse, so he tried to look as miserable as possible. “Okay,” Shacklebolt finally agreed.

 

When they were once again sitting on the floor of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Shacklebolt simply looked at Harry for a long moment. Harry stared back at first, but couldn’t hold the professor’s intense gaze for long. Finally, the Auror said, “Well, Harry, I have to say overall I’m impressed. You were outnumbered two to one, and even though you were all underage, you managed to hold your own for quite some time. You’re already developing a feel for assessing situations – for example, you knew as long as you held on to the prophecy, you had leverage.”

 

“But I should have never been there in the first place,” Harry said in a bitter voice.

 

“True,” agreed the professor, “but that’s not your fault, Harry – you were deceived. You’ll learn discernment through experience – there’s really no other way.” Harry felt a little frustrated at these words; he hadn’t had the luxury of experience last spring.

 

*******************************************

 

Despite his Occlumency training, Harry had trouble clearing his mind over the next couple of days. His sleep was fitful and full of nightmares, and during the day he struggled groggily through his classes and homework. He considered asking Madam Pomfrey for a potion for dreamless sleep, but he knew that the crutch would only hinder him in learning to control his mind.

 

Two nights after reliving his memories in the Pensieve, Harry awoke drenched in sweat and trembling. As usual, the nightmare had started from the moment Sirius fell through the veil, progressed through Harry’s attempt at an Unforgivable Curse, and ended with Voldemort’s possession of his body.

 

When his body stopped shaking, he silently got up, put on his dressing gown and slippers, pulled his invisibility cloak over himself, and headed down to the common room. A few students were still lingering near the fire, scribbling on homework, and Harry realized it wasn’t quite midnight. He slipped silently out of the portrait hole, hoping no one would notice the door seemingly opening of its own accord.

 

As he roamed the halls, he forced himself to concentrate on the Quidditch practice earlier that evening, and the dream’s images gradually faded. He realized he was headed toward the kitchens, and that he was actually hungry. He couldn’t help a small chuckle at the thought that despite the nightmares and lack of sleep, his stomach still worked.

 

He eagerly started down the broad stone corridor and then froze as he caught sight of a pale figure huddled on the floor. Malfoy was sitting with his back pressed to the wall, knees drawn to his chest, and seemed to be shivering slightly. The Slytherin looked up, apparently hearing his quiet footsteps, and Harry’s breath caught at the complete vulnerability in his enemy’s expression. He inched closer as Malfoy looked around, searching for the intruder. Harry was shocked to see that his face was marred with bruises.

 

The Slytherin finally put his head back down on his arms, which were crossed on top of his knees. Harry turned to head back to the Gryffindor common room, but his stomach growled audibly.

 

“I know someone’s there,” Malfoy said, his voice muffled by his arms. “Show yourself or move on!”

 

There was no way Harry could get to the kitchen without being detected since Malfoy was sitting in front of the painting that hid the door. Perhaps he could find some chocolate in his trunk to quiet his stomach, but the paintings of food surrounding him seemed to mock him. He thought a meat pie would taste particularly good and his mouth started watering.

 

Harry weighed his options. Almost four weeks had passed since the “incident” in the changing room, and Malfoy hadn’t so much as hexed him. He realized he was beginning to believe Dumbledore’s assertion that the Slytherin no longer presented a threat to him. He shrugged to himself and pulled off the invisibility cloak.

 

“The way I see it, Malfoy,” Harry said, ignoring the Slytherin’s stunned expression, “you have three choices. You can turn me in for being out past curfew, but you’ll get in trouble as well; you can pretend I was never here; or…” He took a deep breath, “…you can join me.” Harry knew the Slytherin would be curious. If he could get him to go to the kitchens with him, he wouldn’t be likely to tell and risk getting into trouble himself.

 

Malfoy recovered himself quickly and shrugged. “I’ll turn you in. I don’t care if I get in trouble. It would be worth it to get you into trouble.”

 

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I don’t think you will.”

 

“Watch me,” said Malfoy with a snort, standing with obvious pain.

 

“No,” Harry repeated. “I think you’ll come with me, because I’m going to the kitchens to get a snack, and you weren’t at dinner tonight, so I’ll bet you’re hungry.”

 

Harry looked into the grey eyes. Malfoy was obviously trying to act indifferent towards him, but Harry saw the flicker of curiosity. He studied the bruises on his face; it appeared the Slytherin had been thoroughly beaten. His robes were torn in at least two places, and one of his fingers was swollen. Harry realized he was staring when Malfoy said, “I know I’m devastatingly handsome, Potter, but this is getting…”

 

“Who did this to you?” Harry interrupted.

 

“Well, some say God created all humans, but I think it’s just because my parents are so good looking,” said Malfoy, deliberately misunderstanding.

 

“The bruises,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Are you going to try to tell me you ran into a door?”

 

“No,” said Malfoy, his face hardening into a closed expression before he looked away. He crossed his arms and said, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I tripped and fell - flat on my face.”

 

“Weren’t your goons there to protect you, Malfoy?” Harry asked, his tone taunting.

 

“I don’t need them – I can take care of myself!” Malfoy seemed to be trying to shout this, but his voice lacked enthusiasm.

 

“Yeah, right,” Harry said with a derisive laugh. “It looks like you could have used them today.” Malfoy glanced at him and looked away again. Something clicked in Harry’s mind as he noticed the defeated look in the grey eyes. “Unless – they did this to you, didn’t they? What did you do to make Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum so mad at you – take away their candy?”

 

Malfoy raised his head to glare at him, and Harry was relieved to see the expression of loathing. For some reason, Harry was finding it difficult to hate Malfoy when he appeared vulnerable, and he had hated Malfoy so long that anything else felt uncomfortable.

 

“This is all your fault, you know,” he said in a voice that made Harry reach into his pocket and put his hand on his wand.

 

“Of course,” Harry said in a sarcastic tone. “Everything that happens to you is my fault. I was put on this earth…”

 

“All your fault!” Malfoy repeated louder. He took a step toward Harry, balling his fists at his sides. “If it wasn’t for you, I could have hexed them!”

 

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, completely bewildered. He casually pulled his wand from his pocket.

 

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about! I’m only allowed my wand in class – because of YOU!”

 

Understanding dawned on Harry, and he smirked at the punishment Dumbledore hadn’t mentioned. He made a show of putting his wand back in his pocket as he drawled. “Oh, right. It’s all my fault. My fault that you took my wand, interrogated me, and then flew into a murderous rage when you didn’t like the answers. My fault you tried to kill me.”

 

A flicker of fear went through Malfoy’s eyes at Harry’s last words. He looked up and down the hall, presumably to check for anyone within earshot. His eyes narrowed as he looked back at Harry; he almost looked puzzled. “You didn’t know I didn’t have my wand, did you?” Harry shook his head. Draco gave a snort of bitter laughter. “You stupid Gryffindor! How did you know I wouldn’t try to kill you again?” He took another step toward Harry. “How did you know I wouldn’t succeed?”

 

Harry shrugged and thought about that for a moment. “I don’t think you really want to kill me, Malfoy,” he said in a quiet voice.

 

“Dumbledore told you that, did he?” Malfoy said, taking another step forward. “Well, let’s get one thing straight, Potter. Just because I don’t want to end up in Azkaban like my…” He paused and swallowed. “Just because I don’t want to end up in Azkaban doesn’t mean I hate you any less.”

 

“Good! Because I hate you, too!” Harry barked. He looked into the grey eyes, only inches away, which were actually reflecting confusion instead of hatred. That made Harry feel discomfited, so he looked away. “But right now I’m too hungry to care. Get out of my way, Malfoy!”

 

The Slytherin made no motion to move, so Harry pulled his wand. “Get out of my way or I’ll make you,” he threatened.

 

“Oh, I’m impressed, Potter,” drawled Malfoy, standing his ground. “Very brave of you, threatening a chap without his wand.”

 

Harry shrugged, pocketed his wand, and gave Malfoy a hard shove. The other boy obviously hadn’t expected this because he stumbled away from Harry and almost fell. But before he could recover, Harry had tickled the pear in the painting Malfoy had been blocking and started opening the hidden kitchen door. Malfoy’s answering shove from behind took Harry by surprise and sent him reeling into a table filled with baked goods, his fall cushioned by a very large chocolate cake.

 

The Slytherin’s howls of laughter grated on his ears as Harry struggled to his feet, sputtering and wiping frosting from his face. He picked up the rest of the cake and threw it at Malfoy, but the other boy ducked and caught it only on the shoulder. Harry was disappointed to miss his face, but at least he had stopped laughing.

 

Malfoy balled his fists and took two steps toward Harry, but froze when a high-pitched voice said, “Harry Potter! Master Malfoy! Harry Potter and Master Malfoy both came to see Dobby! Dobby is so happy to see you both, sirs! I is not knowing that Dobby’s two favourite humans are friends.”

 

The house-elf had finally replaced his tea cosy with a proper cap, which had holes for his huge ears. He was wearing the maroon jumper Ron had given him last Christmas with a pair of bright blue shorts and mismatched socks. He bowed so low the brim of his hat hit the ground, but luckily it was held in place by his ears.

 

Harry quirked an eyebrow at Malfoy as he addressed Dobby. “Sorry about the mess, Dobby. I – I slipped and fell.”

 

“No worries, Harry Potter sir! Dobby will have this cleaned up in no time, sir.” The house-elf produced a cloth and gave it to Harry, who began to wipe his face. “Harry Potter and Master Malfoy should get a snack while Dobby cleans their robes,” Dobby said, holding out his arms. Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket before removing his dressing gown and draping it over Dobby’s arms. He stuck his wand in the pocket of his pyjama bottoms. After hesitating a moment, Malfoy took off his school robe and gave it to Dobby. He was still dressed underneath, wearing a white tee-shirt and black slacks. “Yes, that’s right, sirs. Dobby will clean them. Have a snack, sirs!” the house-elf repeated as he disappeared though a nearby door.

 

“Be careful with that – it’s silk,” Malfoy called after the house-elf, causing Harry to roll his eyes again.

 

Harry plucked his invisibility cloak off the floor where he had dropped it when Malfoy shoved him. He checked it for cake crumbs and then folded it reverently. When he finished, he looked up and saw Malfoy watching him with an unreadable expression.

 

“How long have you had it?” he finally asked. “I know you had it in third year – you used it to sneak into Hogsmeade.”

 

Harry couldn’t help a smile as he remembered throwing mud at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle from under the invisibility cloak. “I’ve had it since first year, actually. It was my father’s.”

 

“Comes in handy, does it?” Malfoy said with a glitter of envy in his eyes. Harry shrugged in answer, wandered over to the cupboards, and began searching for a meat pie. The voice behind him continued, “It would be too bad if it was confiscated, wouldn’t it? I’m sure it’s against the rules to have one.”

 

“Most of the staff knows I have it,” Harry answered in a casual tone. “Go ahead – telltale if you want.” He turned to look at Malfoy and felt satisfaction at his angry expression. “Are you going to eat or not? Here’s some meat pies…“ He pulled one out and showed it to the Slytherin. “…and you’re standing right in front of all the puddings.”

 

Malfoy gazed at him for a long moment and then sat on the bench beside the table, pulling a large chocolate tart over to him. He looked around and demanded, “I need a fork!”

 

Harry had spotted the dishes and cutlery while searching for the pies. He pulled out a plate, fork, and spoon and laid them on the counter. Then he pulled his wand from his pocket and banished the lot across the room to Malfoy. “Lazy,” he muttered under his breath.

 

Sitting on the counter, which was closer to the ground than those in the Dursley’s kitchen, presumably to accommodate the diminutive house-elves, Harry bit into the pie, not bothering with a fork. He couldn’t help an audible, “Mmmm,” as the flaky crust and juicy filling filled his mouth. He ate slowly and silently, relishing the taste and textures, feeling his whole body relax as the rumbling in his stomach was calmed. He tried to ignore the fact that his childhood enemy was doing much the same thing across the room.

 

Finally, he finished the pie, licked his fingers, and began to search the cupboards for pumpkin juice. He found a flask and filled a goblet. As he raised the glass to drink, his eyes caught Malfoy’s across the room. He sighed, set the goblet on the counter, and filled another. This time he didn’t banish it since he didn’t trust himself not to spill the contents. Instead, he carried it over to the other boy, along with his own, and sat down at the table across from him.

 

“Good tart?” he said conversationally.

 

“Yeah,” Malfoy mumbled, giving him a sulky look. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, and finally said, “Want some?”

 

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, but he only summoned a fork and plate and helped himself to a large piece of the tart. His hunger had been mostly sated by the meat pie, so he wasn’t as enthusiastic in his appreciation of the tart, but it still tasted good. After a few bites, he realized the Slytherin had stopped eating and was watching him, rather like one would look at something they had never seen before. “What?” Harry asked in a defensive tone.

 

“I don’t understand you,” Malfoy said in a quiet but intense voice.

 

Harry gave a snort of derision and said, “Well that’s quite an understatement.”

 

“Why haven’t you told anyone?” he asked, ignoring Harry’s comment.

 

That question required some thought. Harry almost said, ‘How do you know I haven’t?’ but that was too obvious; if Harry had told anyone, Malfoy would probably be in St. Mungo’s or Azkaban. He finally told the truth. “Dumbledore convinced me not to.”

 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You’ve proven you’re not afraid to break rules.” He shook his head and then bored his eyes into Harry’s. “No, I think you’re waiting for just the right moment. Either that or you’re going to blackmail me. Whichever it is, I wish you would just get it over with.”

 

Harry laughed, causing the Slytherin’s face to redden with anger. “Blackmail? What could you possibly have that I would want?”

 

“Money, of course,” spat Malfoy. His face was still red, but Harry saw the anger in his eyes fading into confusion.

 

“Money? You’ve got to be joking! I’ve got more money than I could ever spend.” Harry’s laughter choked as he thought about the sources of his wealth.

 

“You’re lying! If you had money you certainly wouldn’t dress like – like you do,” Malfoy said, gesturing wildly at Harry with his fork. Harry’s face flushed as he looked down at his pyjamas, which were covered with pictures of televisions and radios and were at least two sizes too large.

 

“I don’t get out to shop much!” he shouted. He was embarrassed about his clothes, but didn’t know what he could do about it since he wasn’t allowed to leave Hogwarts or the Dursley’s.

 

“Then what do you want, Potter? Tell me! Let’s get this over with!” Malfoy demanded.

 

Harry looked into his eyes and realized the other boy was completely serious. It explained a lot; he had been wondering why the Slytherin had appeared to be afraid of him. His mind whirled, wondering what to say to his enemy, wondering how to convince him that he had no intention of blackmail. It was disconcerting for Malfoy to be afraid of him; he was hoping they could go back to the familiar animosity.

 

He shook his head and started to open his mouth, but before he could speak, Dobby came bustling into the room, bearing their freshly laundered robes.

 

“Harry Potter! Master Malfoy! Dobby sees you got a snack, sirs. Very good!”

 

Harry stood, took the offered dressing gown, and put it on. “Thank you, Dobby,” he said.

 

“Dobby is so happy he got to help Harry Potter and Master Malfoy. Dobby is being very glad that Harry Potter and Master Malfoy came to see him,” the house-elf said, tears of joy threatening to leak from his eyes. He turned to Malfoy and asked, “Does sir want Dobby to bring him breakfast tomorrow?”

 

Harry slipped back through the door while Dobby and Malfoy worked out the details for his next meal. He realized that Malfoy hadn’t been starving himself after all; it sounded as if the house-elf and the Slytherin had an ongoing arrangement.

 

As he ascended the stairs to the seventh floor, he thought about the strange conversation he’d had with Malfoy. He’d never spent that much time with the Slytherin before, and it shocked him that, aside from the shoving, neither of them had tried to hurt the other. It bothered him that Dumbledore had taken the Slytherin’s wand; had the old man been lying when he said he was certain Malfoy wouldn’t try to kill him?

 

By the time he reached the common room he had decided to confront Dumbledore first thing in the morning. He pulled off his dressing gown and crawled into bed, but it was a long while before sleep overtook him.

 

**********************************

 

The next morning, Harry woke before his roommates and dressed stealthily, so as not to awaken them. He slipped out of the dormitory and made his way down to the hidden entrance to the headmaster’s office, his stride quick and full of purpose. After several attempts, he discovered the password, “Sugar Quill”, and ran up the steps instead of waiting for the moving staircase to transport him to the top. When he reached the door, he knocked and entered when bidden.

 

“I thought you were sure he wouldn’t try it again!” Harry said without preamble.

 

Dumbledore had his back to him, gazing out the window. At Harry’s words he turned to face him, an incredulous expression on his face. “I know Mr. Malfoy did not try to kill you with a curse,” he said. “I would have been alerted - there are wards in the castle and on the grounds to detect Unforgivable Curses.”

 

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head and folding his arms across his chest defiantly, “not because of the wards, because you knew he didn’t have his wand. You made me think you trusted him!”

 

“Harry, I have never lied to you, nor will I ever. Mr. Malfoy was not confident of his self-control, so I thought he would feel more comfortable if he were temporarily deprived of his wand. He protested rather loudly, but eventually accepted it as a condition of his remaining at Hogwarts.”

 

“I don’t think it makes him feel more comfortable,” Harry muttered under his breath.

 

Dumbledore gave Harry a long, unfathomable look and then said, “Have a seat.” He indicated one of the chairs in front of his desk. Harry hesitated a moment, then uncrossed his arms and slouched over to the chair, plunking himself down. The headmaster looked at him in a satisfied sort of way and sat in the chair behind the desk. He leaned forward slightly, propping his chin on his hands, and said, “So tell me, Harry – how did you know Mr. Malfoy didn’t have his wand?”

 

Harry squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. “He – sort of – told me.”

 

“Are you telling me,” Dumbledore said with twinkling eyes, “that after all these years, you and Mr. Malfoy finally managed to have a civil conversation?” Harry was quite annoyed at the amusement in the headmaster’s expression.

 

“Well – it was more of an argument,” Harry said after puzzling for a moment. “But it was almost civil.”

 

The headmaster’s amusement seemed to grow, and Harry felt his discomfort growing at the same rate. “Well, that seems to be a step in the right direction, anyway,” said Dumbledore. He put his hands on the desk and leaned forward even more. “Do you think I should return Mr. Malfoy’s wand?”

 

************************************

 

After breakfast Saturday morning, Harry trudged up the marble stairs behind Ron and Hermione. The entire Great Hall had been buzzing about the Hogsmeade weekend. He didn’t mind so much that he was missing a visit to the village, but he resented that the situation with Voldemort was once again singling him out from the other students. At least he wouldn’t be alone; Ron and Hermione weren’t allowed to go either, but that didn’t make Harry feel much better since he was the cause of their restriction.

 

As they reached the portrait hole, Hermione gave the password. Ron turned to Harry and said, “Cheer up, mate! We can spend the day together.”

 

“Yeah,” agreed Hermione. “We need to get started on that Transfiguration essay.”

 

“No way!” said Ron. “We’re not working on homework today. We’re going to have fun – more fun than we would if we cou— than if we went to Hogsmeade.” Harry forced a smile at Ron. He was grateful for his friend’s attitude, but felt extremely guilty; if it hadn’t been for him, Ron would be going out on his first real date with his girlfriend today. Hermione started to say something, but Ron cut her off. “If you want to do homework, fine, but I’m going to get the cards. Harry and I are playing Exploding Snap.”

 

Hermione shrugged and slumped in a chair by the fireplace. Harry was a little surprised that she had given in so easily, but figured they would pay for it with nagging from her tomorrow.

 

He flopped in a chair and watched sullenly as students left through the portrait hole for Hogsmeade in twos and threes. His eyes narrowed as he watched Neville leave the common room with a giggling Lavender clinging to his arm. He noticed Neville’s back was straighter and his head was held higher than before. It seemed the formerly bumbling boy had gained a bit of confidence in the last few months.

 

“She really likes him,” Hermione said. Harry looked at her and saw that she was also gazing at Neville and Lavender. “She started hanging around with him to make you jealous, but then when he and Ginny broke up, she realized she really liked him. She says he’s thoughtful and funny, and really smart in certain subjects.”

 

Harry shook his head. He wondered how Neville could stand to be around the silly girl. Of course, he didn’t have the secrets Harry did, so he supposed his roommate might get along with her better than he had.

 

“Okay – who’s in?” Ron asked loudly, bounding down the stairs and holding the deck of cards up with one hand.

 

The three friends played Exploding Snap for a while, and then Hermione watched Harry lose to Ron at chess. During the last few minutes of the game, Ginny climbed in through the portrait hole and sat down silently to watch. Harry was a little surprised; he had forgotten she was forbidden to go to Hogsmeade as well.

 

After Ron had said the inevitable ‘checkmate’, Ginny finally spoke. “I’m bored.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” said Hermione. “Ron and Harry won’t let me study.”

 

Ron glared at his girlfriend and Ginny shrugged. “I really wanted to go to Hogsmeade. I tried studying in the library, but I couldn’t concentrate. I actually have some money, and I can’t go and spend it!”

 

Harry looked away, feeling terrible that he was causing grief to someone he considered a friend. He was sure Ron and Hermione were feeling the same, but just not saying anything. He wished, not for the first time, that the ground would just open up and swallow him so that his friends wouldn’t have to be in danger. He mumbled, “Sorry, Ginny.”

 

“Why?” she asked. He looked at her face and saw only puzzlement reflected there instead of the accusation he expected.

 

“You could go to Hogsmeade if it wasn’t for me.”

 

To his surprise, Ginny rolled her eyes at him. “Come on, Harry, get over yourself. It’s not your fault. Ron and I would be targets with or without you. Our parents openly support Dumbledore and most of our family is in the Order. You need to quit feeling guilty for stuff and put the blame where it belongs – on Voldemort!”

 

Harry swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded. He knew she was right, but he couldn’t seem to help feeling guilty. Ginny stood and stretched. “I’m sick of being indoors – I’m going flying. Anyone else?”

 

“Yeah – I’ll get my broom,” said Harry, his spirits lifting immediately. Flying was a brilliant idea. Harry hadn’t had time to fly just for fun since school started; the only times he flew were during Quidditch practices.

 

Ron gave Hermione a sad, but chivalrous look, clearly wanting to go, but not wanting to leave her behind. Hermione hated to fly. “Go on, Ron, get your broom,” Hermione said. “I’ll bring a book down to the pitch.” He grinned like a little boy and followed Harry up the stairs.

 

Ten minutes later, Harry, Ron, and Ginny were flying high above the Quidditch pitch, laughing and throwing a Quaffle back and forth. Harry had left his guilty feelings on the ground and was enjoying himself immensely. Hermione was sitting far below on a bench, but it was clear she was only pretending to read. Apparently Ron noticed this, because after a while he landed in front of her, pulled on her arm and pointed to his broom, apparently trying to persuade her to fly with him.

 

“A Galleon says she does it,” Ginny said in a playful voice, hovering in the air next to Harry.

 

“She won’t,” Harry said, thinking he knew Hermione much better than Ginny did.

 

Hermione put the book down and stood up, putting her hands on her hips and appearing to tell Ron off. But then, to Harry’s surprise, she climbed on in front of Ron. He put his arms around her to grab the broom handle, and took off slowly, flying low to the ground. For some reason, the sight of them flying together made Harry feel warm and cheerful. The mixture of fear and enjoyment on Hermione’s face and the pure delight in Ron’s expression were a pleasure to watch. Even though they annoyed him sometimes, he was glad his best friends were dating; they made each other so happy.

 

“Pay up!” Ginny said, holding her palm in front of his face and breaking into his reverie. He smiled up at her and reached into his pocket, but something behind her caught his attention. “What is it, Harry?” she asked, turning her broom around for a better look.

 

Hundreds of dark shapes were approaching the outskirts of Hogsmeade. It was too far away to make out exactly what they were, but their movements seemed too smooth for walking. It was as if they were gliding …

 

“Dementors!” Harry shouted. “Get help, Ginny!”


	9. The Battle of Hogsmeade

AUTHOR’S NOTES: This chapter is essentially one long action sequence. I know it’s a short chapter, but it didn’t make sense to combine it with anything else to make it longer. Ten is finished, and it’s a bit longer. I don’t have any rhyme or reason to my chapter lengths – I just do what feels right.

 

My three wonderful beta readers are Ginnysdarkside, Swishandflick, and Gianfar (or Gianfared in LJ world). People often ask me why I have three and what they do. Over the next three chapters I’ll tell you about them. Ginnysdarkside is first – I’ll tell you about her at the bottom of the chapter.

 

*************************************************

 

“Though one may be overpowered,

two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”

Ecclesiastes 4:12

 

 

Hundreds of dark shapes were approaching the outskirts of Hogsmeade. It was too far away to make out exactly what they were, but their movements seemed too smooth for walking. It was as if they were gliding …

 

“Dementors!” Harry shouted. “Go get help, Ginny!”

 

He didn’t wait to see if Ginny followed his command; instead, he flew toward Hogsmeade at top speed. He tried to make his broom go even faster, but what should have been a very short flight seemed to be taking forever. Harry knew things seemed to take longer when a person was in a hurry, but this was ridiculous; after almost five minutes of flying, he had cleared the Quidditch pitch, but still wasn’t getting any closer to Hogsmeade. He looked down and was surprised to see that the ground did not appear to be moving backward as it should, even though he could feel the motion of his broomstick and the wind whipping through his hair.

 

“What’s wrong, Harry? You’re not moving!” Harry whipped around to see Ron hovering behind him, alone on his broom. Harry hoped Hermione had gone for help.

 

“I’m not sure,” Harry answered. He stopped trying to fly forward and hovered next to Ron.

 

“Must be the wards,” said Ginny, stopping on the other side of Harry.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ron yelled, leaning across Harry to glare at Ginny.

 

“I’m going,” Ginny answered, her face set in a determined expression. “I can produce a Patronus.”

 

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Harry said, “She’s right, Ron – we need her. A lot of adults can’t produce a Patronus. But it doesn’t matter if we can’t get through the wards.”

 

“Maybe if we all try together,” suggested Ginny.

 

“Okay,” Harry said with a shrug. “On the count of three…”

 

Harry counted to three and flew forward as forcefully as he could, concentrating on how much he needed to get to Hogsmeade. At first, it seemed as though they weren’t moving, but then Harry felt an odd sensation, as if flying through a sheet of water.

 

“Yes!” shouted Ron, punching the air, as the ground below them started to move again.

 

The clear blue sky and sunshine seemed to mock the chilling darkness of the scene below. Hundreds of Dementors were gliding down from the mountains and advancing steadily toward the resisting humans like a grass fire consuming a field. Some dodged the buildings to attack the people in the street, while others went inside, eliciting screams from the occupants. On the main street, the black-cloaked figures were being held back by a small group of silvery animals, but many were still advancing around the Patronuses. There simply weren’t enough.

 

The three friends arrived in Hogsmeade within minutes and landed as close as they dared to the Dementors. There was no time to panic or lament the lack of resistance. Harry glanced at Ron as he aimed his wand at the closest Dementors. He thought of the time Ron had told him he was like a brother to him and shouted, “Expecto Patronum!” The same incantation rang out from either side of him, and a giraffe and a unicorn joined his stag in charging the Dementors.

 

The three silvery shapes drove back some of the advancing Dementors, but more kept coming forward. Harry guided his stag to a Dementor that was about to grab a fourth year girl. Her companions were trying to throw hexes at the tall, black shape, but to no avail. Harry screamed at the students to run and was relieved to see them sprint in the other direction while his stag held back the Dementors that were stalking them.

 

Students and adults alike were screaming and throwing hexes at the Dementors; the scene was utter chaos. “We’ve got to get these people out of here!” he shouted in Ron’s general direction.

 

Just then, he heard a familiar voice, amplified over the noise, oddly calm as if only calling a Quidditch match. “If you can produce a Patronus, please come forward and help. If you cannot cast a Patronus, please make your way quickly to Hogwarts. You’ll be safe there. Hexes and curses are no good against Dementors.” Harry caught a glimpse of Tonks pointing her wand at her throat to quiet her voice before turning it toward the Dementors and producing a silvery dolphin. There was no trace of clumsiness in her steps as she held up her wand to control her Patronus with one hand while helping to shuffle students in the other direction with the other.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw his stag flicker and fade. He raised his wand to cast again, this time remembering when Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup in his third year. As the silvery stag ran towards the Dementors, putting its head down to butt them with its antlers, Harry ran down the street toward a group of the black-cloaked figures that were advancing on some younger students in a sickening game of tag. He was trying to hold up his wand and watch his Patronus while he ran, so it shouldn’t have surprised him when he tripped and fell to his knees.

 

When Harry saw what he had tripped over, he almost retched. It was Michael Corner, his dead, soulless eyes gazing up at Harry, frozen forever in a terrified expression. Harry forced himself to look away, but that did no good since his eyes fell on Cho, lying on her back with the same look on her face.

 

If he had only reached Hogsmeade sooner … if he had only taught them more thoroughly in the DA … if he had already killed Voldemort … The regrets churned in his stomach and began to rise in his throat, threatening to choke him. He remembered Cho’s eyes looking up at him in admiration in the Hog’s Head. She had believed in him, and he had failed her.

 

Harry struggled to his feet, trying desperately to force the images of his dead classmates from his mind. A group of third years was running toward him, but the dozen Dementors pursuing them were moving faster. Harry kept telling himself that he couldn’t help Cho and Michael, but he could help the third years, if only he could focus. He closed his eyes for a moment to clear his mind and tried to think about winning the Quidditch Cup. “Expecto Patronum!” A silvery mist drifted from his wand, but quickly faded. “EXPECTO PATRONUM!” he screamed in desperation. This time, nothing happened. The Dementors were getting closer, and Harry was beginning to hear the familiar screams in his head. One of the dead hands reached out to grab the nearest student. Harry closed his eyes and bowed his head, trying frantically to focus on the happy memory, but his mother’s screams only grew louder.

 

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” screamed a familiar voice near him. Harry looked up to see a silvery bear driving the Dementors away from the clearly panicked third years. He realized with relief that they were all alive and had a clear path to Hogwarts.

 

Harry nodded his thanks to Neville, who gave him a thumbs-up and disappeared back into the fray. Harry started to follow him, but noticed five Dementors going into the Three Broomsticks. He hesitated; surely everyone had abandoned the pub and run for Hogwarts by now. He ran a few steps toward the battle, but then turned suddenly and doubled back to the Three Broomsticks, ducking down the alley behind the building and using the kitchen door.

 

Madam Rosmerta and several students were cowering behind the bar with the black-cloaked figures almost upon them. Zacharias Smith was the only one on his feet, screaming the incantation at the top of his lungs, but only wisps of grey mist drifted from his wand. Harry quickly cast a Patronus. The Dementors scuttled from the pub like anxious spiders, but he knew they would be back.

 

“You’ve got to get out of here,” he said to Rosmerta. “Get up to Hogwarts!”

 

“I’m not leaving!” said Madam Rosmerta.

 

Harry growled in frustration. “I don’t have time to stay here and protect you – people are dying out there! You’re keeping me from saving lives! Now GET OUT OF HERE!”

 

The barkeep’s eyes widened in fear, and she turned and headed for the back door. Harry felt uncomfortable that she was fearful of him, especially after facing five Dementors, but he forced the feeling away. The important thing was that he had convinced her to leave the pub.

 

The students trailed behind her as she left. Zacharias was last, and he sent Harry a glance that was a combination of mortification and resentment as he brushed by him. Harry had seen the Hufflepuff produce a Patronus many times, but unfortunately he had been unable to do it in a life-threatening situation. Harry knew from experience that there was an immense difference between casting a Patronus in a roomful of classmates and casting a Patronus with genuine Dementors closing in on you.

 

Shaking his head to clear it, Harry exited the building. He headed back out into the street to rejoin the main battle, his steps hastened by visions of Ron and Ginny lying in the street as he had found Cho and Michael.

 

The five Dementors that had been in the Three Broomsticks had turned on a small group of students running toward Hogwarts. Harry quickly assessed the situation, calculating whether the students had time to make it to the school before they were caught. While he hesitated, one of the students stopped and pulled out his wand, turning to face his pursuers. “Expecto Patronum!” he shouted, but nothing happened. As Malfoy tried again, Harry focused on winning the Quidditch Cup and cast his own Patronus.

 

“Malfoy,” Harry shouted as the stag forced the Dementors in the other direction, “have you ever cast a Patronus before?”

 

Malfoy looked at the stag and then at Harry with a mixture of admiration and jealousy. He shrugged and said, “How hard can it be? Even Longbottom can do it!”

 

Harry ignored the jab at his friend and said, “Get out of here! You’re only in the way!” The Slytherin gave Harry a look of intense loathing before turning and running down the street towards the castle. Harry ran in the opposite direction, toward the sound of shouting voices.

 

There were only about a dozen students and four Aurors fighting the Dementors. About twenty people were lying on the ground. Harry swallowed and hoped they were only unconscious, then he cast his Patronus and ran to join the battle.

 

There were too many Dementors, and Harry’s silvery stag grew weaker each time it was cast. The humans were gathered in a tight circle, and the Dementors were pressing toward them from every side, tightening like a fist. The weak, silvery animals were now only making the demons hesitate for brief moments.

 

Ron was still on his feet, trying desperately to cast his Patronus with a look of horror on his face. Ginny was crouched on the ground in tears, her red hair flying haphazardly all around her as though she were engulfed in the flames of her own fears. Harry hated to imagine the terror she was reliving, presumably from her first year at Hogwarts. Neville was nearby, obviously concentrating on controlling his silvery bear with tears streaming down his face.

 

The Dementors drew closer. The screaming began quietly in Harry’s head, slowly growing louder. He tried to force the images of his parents out of his mind and cast another Patronus, moving toward the closest group of Dementors.

 

The stag flickered and faded away after only a few seconds. Harry tried again, but his mother’s screams were too loud. One of the Dementors reached an unconscious Seamus Finnegan and reached a skeletal hand almost lovingly toward his face. Harry desperately shouted the incantation over and over as his father’s shouts joined his mother’s voice. He fell to his knees, dropping his wand as he covered his ears to try to block out the voices. The edges of his vision started going black and nausea filled his stomach. He whispered the words of the charm one last time as the darkness began to overcome him.

 

An unearthly music suddenly filled the air, bringing Harry back to full consciousness. The sick feeling remained, but the music forced the voices from Harry’s mind. He looked around and saw the Dementors raising their hands to cover the sides of their hoods; they appeared to be covering their ears, if they even had them. Fawkes landed on Harry’s shoulder and continued to sing.

 

Harry picked up his wand, stood shakily, and cast a Patronus. The phoenix song seemed to be having a similar effect on all the humans; all the conscious ones were casting again, and the Dementors were retreating.

 

Suddenly, Harry remembered Seamus, and rushed over to the still unconscious boy, praying Fawkes had been in time. “Seamus!” he shouted, leaning over his head. He crouched down beside him and shouted into his face, “Wake up!” The Irish boy didn’t move. Harry shook his shoulder desperately. “Wake up, Seamus!”

 

“Ennervate!” shouted Ginny’s voice, and Harry wondered why he hadn’t thought of that. But it did no good; Seamus remained deathly still.

 

“I think he might have been ‘kissed’,” he said, bowing his head. “I wasn’t able to cast ... the voices …” He didn’t bother to check the tears of shame and grief that trickled down his face.

 

Ginny laid a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s try again – together this time.”

 

Harry nodded once and readied his wand as Ginny counted them down. They cast the spell together, and Seamus’ head turned slightly as a small moan escaped his lips. “He’ll be okay,” Ginny said. She turned and started to run toward the retreating Dementors, casting a silvery giraffe as she went.

 

“Wha happen?” Seamus mumbled.

 

Harry sighed with relief and wiped impatiently at his wet face. “You need to get back up to the castle, mate.”

 

Seamus sat up, grabbing his head and groaning, and looked around. “No,” he said slowly, “I can fight.” Harry helped him to his feet, and they made for the battle together. He noticed that several more adults had joined the students and Aurors fighting the Dementors; as he got closer he recognized Remus and several teachers from Hogwarts.

 

“Remus!” Harry shouted, running toward him. He raised his wand to cast a Patronus, but suddenly someone Apparated at his side and grabbed his left hand, forcing him to touch a gold coin.

 

“Noooo!” Harry screamed as he felt the tugging behind his navel. He landed on the floor in Dumbledore’s office and immediately scrambled to his feet and made for the door, even as he heard Snape casting a locking charm from behind him. He turned to face the Potions Master and yelled, “Let me go!”

 

“My instructions were to bring you back to the castle and ensure you stay here,” Snape answered with a sneer, “and I can assure you that I will use any means necessary to comply.”

 

Harry knew Snape’s locking charm would be much too strong for his own magic, and the idea of swaying the professor by begging was ludicrous. So he tried another tactic. “Won’t your Dark Lord get suspicious when he finds out you’re protecting me?”

 

An unpleasant smile teased at Snape’s lips. “How do you know the Dark Lord doesn’t want me to keep you alive so he can kill you himself?”

 

It took a moment for the impact of his words to sink into Harry’s mind. “Whose side are you on, anyway?” he shouted recklessly, anger building to a dangerous level in his chest.

 

Snape’s smile disappeared and his eyes glittered dangerously. “I do nothing that is not in my own best interests,” he said in a low voice.

 

Harry gave a growl of rage and frustration, brandished his wand at Snape, and began to advance menacingly. He had only taken a few steps when Snape waved his own wand. “Petrificus Totalus!” It hurt when Harry hit the floor, but he was so angry he didn’t even notice the pain. He felt he would explode with fury, but he couldn’t move at all, even to speak.

 

“Now listen carefully,” Snape said, pocketing his wand as he stood over him. “It was very foolish of you to leave the school, and I am taking one hundred points from Gryffindor for your recklessness. In putting yourself in danger, you also put the entire wizarding world at risk. I also want you to contemplate the number of people who are being kissed because I am forced to baby sit you instead of fighting the Dementors. You are an idiot, Potter, and at some point I hope you will begin to consider the effects of your actions on others, instead of selfishly playing the hero.”

 

Harry managed a growl of rage even though he couldn’t move. Snape’s words were completely unjust. Harry knew he had probably saved many lives, and Snape’s absence from the battle wouldn’t have made any difference since it was almost over, thanks to Fawkes.

 

He had no idea how long he lay there, seething. Snape had moved out of his line of vision and was silent, but Harry could feel his presence in the room even though he couldn’t turn his head to confirm it. Finally, someone entered the room and clicked his tongue with apparent annoyance.

 

“Well, Severus,” said Dumbledore, “you succeeded in complying with my orders, but was this method really necessary?”

 

“The boy was losing control, Headmaster,” Snape said without a hint of apology in his voice. Harry felt the spell lifting and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, his muscles protesting with every movement.

 

“Surely you could handle one underage wizard, Severus,” said the headmaster, fury smouldering in his eyes. Snape’s expression was unreadable, and he made no reply. Dumbledore sighed and said, “I believe Madam Pomfrey has need of your services in the hospital wing – there are several injuries.”

 

The Potions Master bowed his head slightly to acknowledge the dismissal and left the office. The headmaster reached down to help Harry rise to his feet and then indicated one of the chairs in front of his desk. He waited until Harry was settled until seating himself behind the desk.

 

“I know,” Harry said, refusing to meet Dumbledore’s eyes, “I shouldn’t have left the school.”

 

“True,” acknowledged the older man, “but I am sure Professor Snape has already been most enthusiastic in chastising you on that point. What I am most concerned about,” he leaned forward and rested his chin on a triangle made from his hands, “is the fact that you were able to leave. The wards should have prevented you. Please tell me exactly how you managed to defeat the wards around the school. Leave nothing out.”

 

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AUTHOR’S NOTES: Ginnysdarkside was my very first online HP friend, and my introduction to Instant Messaging. I was reading her “Some Days I Wish I Were In Slytherin” (on Fiction Alley/Dark Arts – go read it!) and we started communicating when we realized we were both over thirty (yay – go “older” HP fans!). I had written five chapters of “Searching for Dawn”, but was afraid to post it. I finally got up the nerve to send chapter one to her, and she was SO encouraging about it! I don’t know that I would have ever posted if it hadn’t been for her. She agreed to beta read for me, so she’s the only one who’s been with me since the beginning. I believe she’s beta read everything I’ve ever written (HP), even the one-shots.

 

Ginnysdarkside has been a HUGE influence on my writing skills and style. The first thing she did was to cure me of overusing adverbs. She also encouraged me to add description and movement to my dialog scenes so they wouldn’t sound so much like movie scripts. My writing has improved to the point that now she mainly catches things like bad comma placement, too many sentences and/or paragraphs starting the same, repetitiveness, etc. She’s mainly what you might call my technical advisor, although we occasionally bat plot ideas around over IM. (Of course, she’s also a good friend.)

 

Ginnysdarkside has written “Some Days…”, which I mentioned above, which is finished. Her current work in process is a sequel called “The Secret Slytherin” which is at Fiction Alley/Schnoogle (very good read as well). She’s also written numerous one-shots with numerous pairings. She’s very versatile and can do any genre well. Her Yahoo group contains most of her HP work.

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HPFicsbyCindaleGDS/files/


	10. Choices

Author’s notes: My three wonderful beta readers are Ginnysdarkside, Swishandflick, and Gianfar (or Gianfared in LJ world). People often ask me why I have three and what they do. Ginnysdarkside was last chapter, now for Swishandflick (see bottom).

 

 

“Looking everywhere, only to find

That it’s not the way I had imagined it all in my mind

So what am I?

What do I have but negativity?

‘Cause I can’t justify the way everyone is looking at me

Nothing to lose

Nothing to gain

Hollow and alone

And the fault is my own”

 

\--Linkin Park, “Somewhere I Belong”

 

******************************************

 

 

On Monday, classes were cancelled and there was a memorial service for Cho and Michael in the Great Hall. Harry was surprised at the degree of grief he felt over Cho’s death, but he supposed a lot of that was guilt, and he had to keep telling himself that he couldn’t be expected to save everyone.

 

The next day the school tried to get back to its normal routine. Everyone seemed a bit more subdued, especially the Ravenclaws. Most of the Slytherins were sulking, presumably since they were now in last place for the house cup. Dumbledore had given fifty points to each student who had fought the Dementors, and the only Slytherin who qualified for the award was Blaise Zabini. Harry heard that most of the Slytherins hadn’t gone to Hogsmeade, and he couldn’t help wondering if some of them had been warned of the attack.

 

Stories about the battle spread through the school like wildfire, many of them surprisingly accurate. All of the students who had fought the Dementors to the end were regarded as heroes. Ron and Neville especially seemed to be enjoying their new status, and Harry relished the relief of sharing the limelight.

 

Almost twice the normal number of students showed up for the Defence Association meeting on Wednesday. Harry had heard that more students were interested in joining because of the attack, so the meeting place had been changed to the Great Hall. Harry spent the first few minutes of the meeting time in hurried last-minute conversation with Professor Shacklebolt in front of a shabby-looking wardrobe. However, he had to keep asking the Professor to repeat himself as the quiet background conversation steadily became a roar.

 

Harry saw the cause for the angry voices when he turned to face the students, holding up a hand to quiet them. Draco Malfoy was sitting on the front row only a few seats away from Ron. The Slytherin gave him a defiant look, as if daring him to try to send him away, and Harry dearly hoped he wouldn’t cause any trouble.

 

“Okay, let’s get started – we’re going to try something different tonight.” Ron’s hand shot up in the air, demanding attention. Harry’s heart sank as he saw Ron’s eyes darting toward Malfoy; he knew what was coming.

 

“Yes, Ron?” he said in his most professional voice.

 

“I don’t think we should allow Death Eaters into our meetings, Harry,” Ron answered, nodding toward Malfoy. Harry heard titters of agreement from all over the room.

 

Malfoy’s cheeks began to flush, and his defiant expression became more stubborn. But he only said, “I am no Death Eater.”

 

“Your father is,” Ron protested. “I think you’re here to report to him and his Death Eater friends about what Harry’s teaching us.”

 

Malfoy clenched his fists, and his face flushed even deeper. When he spoke, it appeared he was forcing himself to remain calm. “Oddly, I haven’t been talking to my father much lately. He’s been unavailable.”

 

“Oh, that’s right,” Ron said sarcastically. “Your father’s in prison.”

 

Malfoy moved as if to stand, but Harry held up his hand to stop him. “Wait,” he said in a commanding voice. The Slytherin glared at Harry for a moment, but stopped, to Harry’s amazement. “Malfoy, why are you here?” Harry suspected he wanted to learn the Patronus Charm, and if he was right, he thought it might diffuse the tension if it was announced aloud.

 

A flicker of surprise crossed Malfoy’s face before it hardened into defiance again. “I want to learn the Patronus Charm,” he said in a voice the entire room could hear.

 

Harry looked into the grey eyes and nodded slowly. “I have no problem with that.” He glanced in Ron’s direction and had to suppress a wince at his friend’s stunned, angry expression.

 

“But, Harry…” Ron began.

 

“Look,” Harry interrupted, ‘I’ll repeat what I said in the first meeting. I have no problem with anyone who wants to come and practice defence. I do have a problem with anyone who tries to cause trouble.” He gave Malfoy a pointed look, and hid his surprise when the Slytherin nodded. He gave Ron what he hoped was a pleading look, begging him without words to drop the subject.

 

Ron started to rise to his feet, but Hermione pulled him back and whispered frantically to him, shooting Harry angry glances. Harry scanned the other faces; most of the other students appeared angry or slightly fearful. A few only appeared amused, including Zabini and the professor.

 

“If no one else has a problem, we need to get started.” Harry paused, but everyone stared back at him in silence. Malfoy was giving him an odd, calculating look. Harry swallowed and began the lesson.

 

“Many of you who were in Hogsmeade on Saturday found out that there’s a world of difference between casting a Patronus in a room full of classmates and casting when facing a real Dementor. We can’t practice with a real Dementor, but we can do the next best thing.

 

“Professor Lupin taught me the Patronus Charm in my third year. Dementors are my worst fear, so we used a boggart for me to practice on. It had the same effect on me as a Dementor – making me relive my worst memory. Professor Shacklebolt is going to charm the boggart in this wardrobe to stay in my form. Then we can all get some realistic practice.

 

“For those of you who are new, the Patronus is essentially an incarnation of your happiness. In order to cast one, you have to be totally focused on a happy memory. It takes extreme concentration to do that when a Dementor is trying to force you to relive your worst memory.”

 

He looked around the room. He had planned to use Ron to demonstrate, but that seemed like a bad idea now. “Neville, will you come up here?” Neville gave Malfoy a nervous glance, but rose and walked self-assuredly to the front of the room. Harry continued, “We know Neville’s worst fear is not Dementors.” There was laughter from those who remembered the story of Snape dressed as Neville’s grandmother from three years ago. Neville blushed, but chuckled a little and shook his head. “Neville, when we open the wardrobe, the boggart will see me and appear as a Dementor. After Professor Shacklebolt casts the charm, you can step forward and cast your Patronus.” Neville nodded at Harry and gave him a confident smile.

 

Harry glanced at Shacklebolt, who stepped forward and nodded once to show he was ready. Harry stepped in front of the wardrobe, counted down from three, and opened the door with magic. However, what emerged from the wardrobe was not a Dementor, but Voldemort.

 

Harry gasped in surprise. He knew he would have to face him, but he didn’t know it would be quite so soon. However, he had no choice; he had to protect all the students behind him. He raised his wand and moved to a duelling stance, ignoring the screams behind him, and Voldemort did the same.

 

As Harry opened his mouth to deliver the killing curse, Shacklebolt shoved him out of the way, yelling, “Riddikulus!” There was a crack, Voldemort disappeared, and a duplicate of the professor appeared in his place. Harry shook his head, feeling stupid, and then stepped forward to help Shacklebolt wrestle the boggart back into the wardrobe, wondering briefly why the professor’s worst fear was himself.

 

Harry turned to face the students who without exception looked pale and frightened. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I think my worst fear has changed since third year.” A few students gave nervous laughs, and the tension in the room lessened.

 

“Could someone help us with this?” Shacklebolt asked. “Is there anyone here who’s worst fear is a Dementor?”

 

Blaise Zabini stood up, said, “Mine is,” and walked to the front. Harry was impressed; Remus had once told him that fearing Dementors suggested your worst fear was fear itself.

 

Neville moved to return to his seat, but Harry grabbed his arm and said, “I’d really like you to cast the Patronus.”

 

Zabini’s boggart was indeed a Dementor, and after Neville demonstrated the Patronus Charm, other students lined up to practice on the boggart. Harry took the new members aside to teach them how to perform the charm. There was a little bit of panic when Malfoy’s Patronus turned out to be a Common Welsh Green, but otherwise the rest of the meeting went smoothly.

 

When Harry dismissed the meeting, Ron gave him one last angry look before quickly leaving the room. Harry winced at the look of hurt and betrayal he could see behind his friend’s anger. Hermione gave Harry an apologetic glance and then flicked her eyes toward Ron’s retreating form, telling Harry wordlessly that she would talk to him about it. Then she turned and quickly followed her boyfriend from the room.

 

Harry stayed in the room until all the students were gone, taking time to have a few words about the lesson with Professor Shacklebolt. Finally, the professor exited through the side door, floating the wardrobe in front of him, and Harry slouched through the main entrance.

 

Malfoy was leaning against the wall in the Main Hall with his hands in his pockets and one ankle crossed over the other. Harry nodded once in his direction and said, “Malfoy,” in acknowledgement.

 

“Potter,” Malfoy replied, falling into step beside him.

 

Harry glanced at the Slytherin with a raised eyebrow. “Sleeping in Gryffindor Tower tonight, are you?”

 

“Not likely,” Malfoy said with a snort of derision. “I need to talk to you.” His tone was commanding, which made Harry a little resentful, but he didn’t feel like arguing. He just wanted to get upstairs and make things right with Ron as soon as possible. Harry shrugged to show he had no objections, but kept climbing the stairs toward the seventh floor.

 

“I don’t like this – owing you,” Malfoy said in a bitter tone.

 

“Owing me?”

 

“Owing you – being indebted to you,” Malfoy said, throwing up his hands. “You got me my wand back, you stood up for me tonight, and you haven’t told anybody about…” he trailed off and gestured with his hand.

 

Harry glanced around before finishing Malfoy’s sentence in a low tone. “The attempted murder?”

 

Malfoy flushed crimson; Harry wasn’t sure if it was anger or embarrassment. “Yeah,” he said in a bitter tone. “Malfoys always repay their debts. I especially resent being indebted to you, Potter.”

 

“You really don’t get me at all, do you?” Harry asked, stopping at the third floor landing and turning to face the Slytherin. “Please listen, because I’m not going to tell you again. I don’t want anything from you, Malfoy.”

 

“That’s unacceptable,” Malfoy said, crossing his arms defiantly.

 

Harry was starting to get angry; he really wanted to get upstairs. Ron’s face loomed at the forefront of his thoughts, and that gave him an idea. “Look, Malfoy, I don’t have time for your guilt trip, or whatever this is. If you really want to do something for me, be decent to my friends, especially Ron and Hermione.”

 

The Slytherin balled his fists at his sides and sputtered a few times. “You’re joking! You expect me to be nice to – to them?” He shook his head and leaned toward Harry. “No, I won’t do it. Give me your Gringotts vault number, and I’ll make a transfer tomorrow.”

 

“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want your money?” Harry yelled in frustration. He realized how loudly he was talking and looked up and down the hall. It appeared to be empty, but he continued in a lower tone. “Why can’t you just be civil to them?”

 

“You don’t know how hard it is for me just to carry on a conversation with you! I can’t completely change the way I act around those Muggle-lovers and Mudbloods. It’s too hard!”

 

“Harder than it is for me to forget you tried to kill me?”

 

Malfoy looked away in anger, apparently having nothing to say to that.

 

“Look,” Harry said, trying to sound reasonable, “I didn’t say you had marry them – you don’t even have to like them. Just – just lay off the insults, especially ‘Mudblood’, okay?”

 

Malfoy gave Harry a long look; Harry couldn’t discern what he was thinking, but he seemed to be having an internal struggle. After almost a full minute had passed, Malfoy said, “Fine. But that … thing … with the We—Weasley tonight wasn’t my fault. He started it. How do you expect me to be civil if he has that attitude?”

 

“I know,” Harry said with a sigh. Malfoy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Don’t look so shocked – you’re right. I’ll talk to him. If you’re going to continue coming to DA meetings it would be easier if we all got along.”

 

Malfoy gave Harry another calculating look, nodded once, turned, and headed back down the stairs. Harry watched his retreating back for a moment before hurrying upstairs to Gryffindor Tower.

 

Ron was in their dormitory lying on his bed, fully dressed. The room was otherwise empty, for which Harry was grateful; he didn’t want an audience. He took a deep breath at the doorway, walked boldly to Ron’s bed, and sat at the foot. Ron frantically drew his legs up to his body as if Harry had a contagious disease, but he couldn’t ignore Harry’s presence. “What do you want?” he barked.

 

Harry took another deep breath and clenched his fists at his sides, struggling to control the frustration that was welling up inside him. He knew if it showed in his voice Ron would never talk to him. “Let’s talk about this, please? I don’t want a repeat of fourth year.”

 

“You want to talk about it?” Ron asked in a mocking tone, rolling his eyes and sitting up. “Fine. I’ll talk. You publicly humiliated me. You chose Malfoy over me in front of half the school.” His voice had grown in volume with every word, but suddenly he stopped, his expression changed from angry to hurt, and his tone grew pleading. “God, Harry, it’s Malfoy! Have you forgotten all the things he’s done to us over the years? What is going on with you?”

 

“I just think anyone who wants to learn to defend themselves should be allowed to,” Harry said in a small voice, unable to look at Ron. “I thought you would understand that – you didn’t have much trouble accepting Zabini.”

 

“Zabini didn’t spend five years doing his best to make our lives hell,” Ron protested.

 

“I know, Ron,” Harry said, gathering the courage to look his friend in the face, “but you’ve got to understand the position I’m in. As leader of the group, I’ve got to be able to put aside petty house rivalries and treat everyone the same.”

 

“This goes beyond simple house rivalry,” Ron said with a sulky expression. “Everyone knows his father is a Death Eater, and everything he’s done over the years suggests he’ll follow in daddy’s footsteps -- if he hasn’t already. I think it’s dangerous to allow him at meetings.”

 

“I disagree,” Harry said, making Ron’s eyes widen with surprise. “Shacklebolt’s going to be at every meeting from now on, and he can handle any trouble that I can’t. Remus is always close by. And Dumbledore isn’t going to allow anything to happen at Hogwarts, anyway.” Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Harry continued before he lost his nerve. “Look, I’ve talked to him a couple of times. He’s actually been … okay to me. And he’s agreed to try to get along with you and Hermione. Please give this a chance.”

 

Ron’s mouth opened and closed a few times; it appeared he was having trouble deciding what to say. His face grew redder and redder, and finally he spat, “Fine. If you insist, I’ll try not to hex your new best friend.”

 

Harry sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “Ron, you’re my best friend, and nothing will ever change that. I chose you over him when it really mattered – on the train when we first came here.”

 

“Yeah, well, sometimes I get tired of being your best friend,” Ron said, studying a spot on his bed intently. “Sidekick to the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ – I’m expected to stand in your shadow, quietly supporting everything you say and do. No one notices Ron Weasley. I’m just the red-headed kid that hangs around with you all the time. I’ve been Harry Potter’s best friend so long I’m not even sure who I am.”

 

The frustration Harry had fought down earlier bloomed into anger and sadness in his chest. Was Ron going to end their friendship? Harry didn’t know if he could take losing Ron. He felt guilty about the constant suffering he put his friends through, but he knew from past experience that he desperately needed the support and love of his best friend. 

 

“I can’t change who I am, Ron,” he whispered, unable to look at him. “And you know I would give anything if I could.” Harry quietly took a couple of deep breaths and focused on his Transfiguration essay; there was no way in hell he was going to let Ron see how much his words had cut.

 

“Harry, I’m sorry,” Ron said. Harry looked up; Ron’s expression had changed to remorse. “I didn’t mean any of those things I said. I really …”

 

“Yes, you did mean them,” Harry said sharply, cutting him off. “And I feel badly about the hell being my friend puts you through. But you need to realize you’re also your own person, not just my mate. You’re a prefect, Ron – Dumbledore chose you for that over me, Neville, Seamus, and Dean. And Hermione – Hermione chose Ron Weasley over Viktor Krum, the famous Quidditch player!”

 

Harry had to smile as Ron got that dreamy expression that he often got when he talked about Hermione. “Yeah,” he agreed. “You know what? She told me she was writing to Krum last year to get my attention – to make me jealous.” Ron’s eyes began to glaze over, and Harry shook his arm a little to regain his attention.

 

“Hey, remember me?” Harry asked with a grin. Harry laughed as Ron’s eyes refocused on him and asked, “Are we okay, then?”

 

“Yeah,” said Ron, grinning and giving Harry a playful punch in the arm.

 

“And Malfoy?” Harry questioned, his smile disappearing. He hated to push this when he had just diffused Ron’s anger, but he knew if it wasn’t settled now, it would come up over and over again.

 

Ron sighed, his smile disappearing as well. “Okay – I’ll try to restrain myself from hexing the ferret.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” Harry said with a smile of relief.

 

*********************************************

 

As they walked down to breakfast the next morning, Hermione looked nervously back and forth between Harry and Ron, apparently trying to decide if they had settled their argument. She finally relaxed when Ron passed Harry the eggs without incident, and they settled into their normal discussions of classes and Quidditch. Harry was grateful she didn’t ask about it; he just wanted to forget it had ever happened.

 

The flutter of owl wings diverted everyone’s attention to the ceiling. It seemed there was more mail than usual this morning. A tawny owl delivered a bright orange envelope to Harry, and he examined it curiously. He looked around and saw that most of the older Gryffindors had them, as well as some students from other houses and a few teachers.

 

“What do you figure?” Harry asked Ron and Hermione, who were also holding orange envelopes.

 

But Ron was watching Ginny, who was looking very smug. “They’re from Fred and George, aren’t they?” he asked her.

 

Before she could answer, the envelopes burst open and each showered its recipient with a substance that looked like glitter. Harry suddenly felt his clothes get tighter as they transfigured into a close-fitting white jumpsuit studded with rhinestones. His eyesight grew dim as his spectacles changed to mirrored sunglasses. Trust the Weasley twins to think of a humiliating costume for him, dressing him in the most conspicuous way possible. He looked around to see how the others had fared.

 

Ron and Neville were clowns, complete with bright red hair (brighter than usual for Ron) and red rubber ball noses. Hermione actually looked pretty in a blue gown similar to the dress robes she had worn to the Yule Ball in fourth year. Her hair was slicked back into the same elegant bun, except this time she was wearing a sparkling tiara. In contrast, her two roommates were dressed as hags, and they didn’t look the least bit happy about it.

 

“Damn! We have to go to class like this!” Ron exclaimed, ripping a piece of parchment in half. Harry hadn’t detected the note in front of him before, but now he picked it up and read:

 

We thought you might need a little fun after what happened on Saturday. The spell will wear off in a couple of hours. Happy Halloween!

 

Fred and George Weasley

Owners

Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes

 

P.S. These Mystery Costume Missives will soon be available in our catalogue as well as our Diagon Alley location.

 

“Look at Malfoy!” Ginny squealed, pulling Harry’s eyes away from the letter. Harry looked up just in time to see a giant white ferret leaving the room in a hurry.

 

“How do you know that’s Malfoy?” asked Ron suspiciously.

 

“Who else would it be?” Ginny asked with a shrug.

 

Ron narrowed his eyes dangerously at his sister. “You were in on this, weren’t you?”

 

“I may have made a few costume suggestions,” Ginny admitted with a smirk. “Do you like yours?”

 

“No!” Ron and Neville said together.

 

“Then it was Fred’s idea,” Ginny said with a giggle. She was dressed as a professional Quidditch player; Harry guessed she got to choose her own costume in exchange for her help with the prank.

 

A disturbance from the teacher’s table drew the eyes of the entire hall. Snape was hurrying from the room, muttering expletives. He was dressed exactly like Neville’s boggart had appeared during their third year, including the vulture-topped hat.

 

“I’m glad we don’t have Potions today,” Harry muttered.

 

“I do,” Ginny said with a heavy sigh.

 

“Good,” said Ron, “and I hope he finds out you were in on this!” Ginny paled, making Harry feel a little sorry for her. Snape would certainly be in a murderous mood today.

 

When breakfast was over, Harry rose with his friends to leave. Ginny gave him a cheeky wink and said, “Lookin’ good,” making Harry forget all about feeling sorry for her. In fact, he started wishing Snape would poison her, especially when he noticed all the looks he was getting as he walked to class, especially from seventh year girls. At least they weren’t looking at his scar for once, but the location of their eyes was making him most uncomfortable. He couldn’t wait for Defence Against the Dark Arts to be over so he could hide in his dormitory until the spell wore off.

 

***********************************

 

Swishandflick and I became mutual fans (we reviewed each other) while I was writing “Searching for Dawn” and he was writing “Silent Siege” (first version). I don’t remember how and why we started communicating, but I think I was the one who got him into instant messaging.

 

When I decided I was going to write “A Cord of Three Strands”, I thought it might be “fun” to try to write it in British English. Swishandflick is a Brit (though he doesn’t live in Britain), so I asked him to help me. As it turns out, his input has been much more than simple Brit-picking. He points out inaccurate characterizations and places that I need additional description, among other things. He held my hand (figuratively, of course) as I was writing chapter nine, which was my first extended action scene. He’s also a great friend, very encouraging.

 

Swishandflick is the author of “Silent Siege”, which is finished (read the revised version), and “Veil of Memories”, the sequel, which is in process. Both are on Schnoogle, and I highly recommend them: http://www.schnoogle.com/authorLinks/Swishandflick/


	11. Defence

Author’s notes: Thanks so much to my three wonderful beta readers, Ginnysdarkside, Swishandflick, and Gianfar. At the bottom of this chapter, I’ll tell you all about Gianfar. There’s also a link to a great piece of artwork for this chapter.

 

***************************************************

 

“What do I do to ignore them behind me?

Do I follow my instincts blindly?

Do I hide my pride from these bad dreams

And give in to sad thoughts that are maddening?

Do I sit here and try to stand it?

Or do I try to catch them red-handed?

Do I trust some and get fooled by phoniness,

Or do I trust nobody and live in loneliness?

 

If I turn my back I’m defenceless

And to go on blindly seems senseless.

If I hide my pride and let it all go on

Then they’ll take from me till everything is gone.”

Linkin Park, “By Myself”

 

************************************************

 

“… making friends with Potter and his Muggle-loving mates, mouthing off to Nott, and now hexing Vince,” Goyle yelled. “You’re turning against your own house, Malfoy.”

 

Harry was stunned at the scene before him. Goyle was holding Malfoy in a standing position with his hands pinned behind his back, while Crabbe pounded his face and torso with his fists. Malfoy’s wand was lying uselessly on the ground near Harry’s feet, yet Harry could see that Crabbe’s face was covered with painful-looking boils; Malfoy had obviously managed one good hex before he lost his wand.

 

The Gryffindor had been sneaking down to the Potions classroom for Occlumency under his invisibility cloak when he heard the voices. He instinctively reacted without really thinking about whom he would be helping. Harry extracted his own wand from his pocket and started pulling off his invisibility cloak, but he froze when he heard his own name, groaning inaudibly as he realized he was partly the cause of Malfoy’s troubles. He had already caused his friends grief, now he had progressed to causing problems for people he didn’t even like. He knew if he revealed himself and helped Malfoy, he would only make things worse. But he couldn’t just stand there and let the Slytherin get beaten to a pulp, either.

 

Malfoy spoke, managing to sound defiant despite his slurred speech. “Nott told you to rough me up, didn’t he? You two never could think for yourselves.”

 

In response, Goyle threw him to the ground, and the two burly Slytherins continued the attack on Malfoy with their feet. But Malfoy’s hands were no longer pinned behind his back, and Harry suddenly had an idea.

 

He crouched down close to Malfoy’s wand and whispered the banishment charm, hoping the Slytherin would react before his attackers did. He held his breath as the wand skidded toward Malfoy and watched the Slytherin’s eyes widen as he caught sight of it. In one fluid movement, Malfoy grabbed his wand, rolled to his back, and hexed both of the other Slytherins. Harry wasn’t sure what hex Malfoy used, but they both appeared to be unconscious.

 

Malfoy painfully pushed himself into a sitting position, looking up and down the hall, presumably wondering how his wand had suddenly appeared. Harry felt it might be better if he didn’t reveal himself, so he just watched until the injured Slytherin had dragged himself to his feet and started to limp down the hall, hopefully toward the hospital wing. Only then did he continue quietly to Snape’s office, musing about Malfoy as he went.

 

For the most part, Malfoy seemed to be avoiding Harry and his friends, but when they did encounter him, he acknowledged them politely, if a little bitterly. The Slytherin had come to the last DA meeting, and this time, no one had objected. Nonetheless, no one would partner him when they practiced duelling, so Shacklebolt had stepped up to work with him while Harry walked around observing the others.

 

He was still thinking about Malfoy when he reached Snape’s office, and by the time the Potions Master had deducted points for his tardiness, insulted his messy hair, and raised his wand to start their lesson, Harry had an idea. When Snape shouted, “Legilimens!” Harry deliberately filled his mind with images of Malfoy’s beating.

 

“Ten more points from Gryffindor for failing to clean out your brain before you came, Potter!” Snape barked. “What is that? A fantasy of yours?”

 

Harry opened his eyes wide and slowly shook his head, trying to communicate the reality of the images without words. Snape’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly as he stared at Harry for a moment. “You know, Malfoy wouldn’t thank you to meddle in an internal Slytherin House matter, and neither do I.”

 

“I haven’t said a word, sir.”

 

The Potions Master stared at Harry with an unreadable expression for a few moments. Harry fully expected him to take house points for his interference, but the thought didn’t bother him. He knew what it felt like to be the punching bag, and he refused to ignore it the way everyone had when Dudley and his friends had beaten him.

 

After staring defiantly at his professor for what seemed like several minutes, Harry was surprised when Snape simply raised his wand and resumed their lesson. Harry put the images of the Slytherins out of his mind and concentrated on defending himself against the spell.

 

***************************************************

 

Ron insisted the team sit together at the first Quidditch match of the season, though he allowed Hermione to join them. Harry found himself wedged between Ron and Ginny as he watched the Slytherin and Hufflepuff teams take the pitch.

 

"I heard Daphne Greengrass was commentating," said Ginny, leaning across Harry to address Ron. Harry got a whiff of something sweet and familiar as her hair whipped by his face; it smelled like apples.

 

An expletive slipped from Ron’s lips, and he ignored the familiar glare from Hermione that his language earned. "She's bound to be biased toward Slytherin."

 

"Well, Lee was always biased toward Gryffindor," Hermione pointed out.

 

"He was not!" Ron protested, turning toward his girlfriend with an outraged expression.

 

Harry caught Ginny rolling her eyes and grinned at her. He agreed with Hermione, but decided it would be best to distract Ron before the row escalated. "Oi - they're starting," he said with an elbow to Ron's ribs.

 

Madam Hooch tossed the Quaffle into the air, and it was immediately caught by a Slytherin Chaser who didn't even pause as he sped toward the Hufflepuff Keeper. The three Slytherin Chasers were very good, working in concert to get the Quaffle to the goalposts while avoiding the Bludgers and the opposing Chasers. The Hufflepuff Keeper, on the other hand, seemed to need a little more time to warm up, and Slytherin scored easily within the first two minutes.

 

"… and Pucey easily gets the Quaffle past Stebbins - Slytherin scores!" rang out the clear, precise voice of Daphne Greengrass. She sounded jubilant that her house had scored, but Harry had to admit that she was being much less biased than Lee Jordan had been.

 

Harry used the time while the teams were regrouping after the goal to observe the Seekers. Matthew Summerby, the Hufflepuff Seeker, was flying in lazy circles above the pitch, his head in constant motion as his eyes sought the Golden Snitch. Malfoy appeared to be flying more slowly than usual, favouring his left arm, and turning his head cautiously, presumably still sore from his beating the night before. Harry guessed that he was actually waiting for the other Seeker to make a move instead of looking for the Snitch himself. This didn’t seem like a very wise move to Harry. If Malfoy was really as sore as he was acting, he would certainly have trouble out-flying Summerby.

 

Harry's attention was drawn back to the Chasers when the Hufflepuff section of the stands exploded into cheers.

 

"… and Hufflepuff scores, tying the score at ten-ten!" said Daphne, sounding slightly less enthusiastic than she had when Slytherin had scored.

 

Slytherin took possession of the Quaffle again, heading toward the other end of the pitch. The Hufflepuff Keeper seemed to be more alert this time, and Slytherin was unable to score before the ball was intercepted by a Hufflepuff Chaser. Crabbe wasted no time in hitting a Bludger toward the offending player, who dropped the Quaffle while trying to dodge. But one of the other Hufflepuff Chasers ducked underneath her, grabbing the ball before Slytherin could react.

 

Harry attempted to watch the action surrounding the Quaffle while keeping an eye on the Seekers. Both sets of Chasers were good, but the Slytherin Chasers seemed to anticipate each other's actions. The Keepers were evenly matched, but Crabbe and Goyle were clearly superior to Hufflepuff's Beaters, hitting the Bludgers with frightening force and accuracy.

 

The Quaffle travelled up and down the pitch several times over the next twenty minutes, but the score remained unchanged. The Hufflepuff Chasers seemed to be tiring slightly under the constant barrage of Bludgers from Crabbe and Goyle.

 

"… and there goes Summerby - has he seen the Snitch?" called Daphne. Suddenly everyone's attention turned to the Seekers.

 

The Hufflepuff Seeker was slightly ahead, but Malfoy was gaining on him. Harry could barely see the small, golden ball darting just out of Summerby's reach. There was no sign of soreness in Malfoy's movements as he caught up to the other Seeker and stretched out his left arm. Harry could almost feel his determination to win at all costs, having experienced it himself.

 

“Slytherin scores!” shouted Daphne, “bringing the tally to twenty … wait … Draco Malfoy catches the Snitch! Slytherin wins – one seventy to ten!”

 

Harry watched as Malfoy drifted toward the ground, the Snitch held high above his head. He nodded slightly and said, “Well done,” earning an amazed stare from Ginny and an angry one from Ron.

 

“What are you on about?” Ron spat.

 

“It was a great catch,” Harry said with a shrug. “As a Seeker, I can appreciate that.”

 

“Look!” shrieked Hermione, pointing toward Malfoy.

 

Harry looked up just in time to see a Bludger smash into the left side of Malfoy’s head, knocking him off his broom. Fortunately, he had almost reached the ground and didn’t have far to fall, but the blow had clearly rendered him unconscious.

 

Harry looked around wildly, muttering, “Who hit it?” He couldn’t believe either of the Hufflepuff Beaters would do something so clearly unfair. Then he saw Madam Hooch rushing toward Crabbe and grabbing his arm, obviously telling him off.

 

“Crabbe did it?” Hermione said, disbelief evident in her voice. “But that doesn’t make sense – Malfoy just won the game.”

 

“Well, no one ever said he was smart,” said Ron. Harry looked around for Goyle, but didn’t see him. Crabbe looked odd without his constant companion.

 

Snape levitated Malfoy’s limp form and left the pitch, accompanied by several professors. Madam Hooch exited in another direction, dragging Crabbe with her. Once the drama was over, the students began filing out of the stands.

 

As Harry made his way back to the castle with the other Gryffindors, his mind kept wandering to the hospital wing. He found himself hoping the Slytherin Seeker was alright, but then shoved the feeling aside, reminding himself that he didn’t like Malfoy and didn’t care what happened to him.

 

Harry wasn’t surprised when Malfoy didn’t show up for dinner that night or for breakfast the next morning, but when he still hadn’t shown up for a meal by dinner on Sunday, he began to get concerned. No, not concerned, he corrected himself. Curious. Was the Slytherin hiding in his dormitory taking his meals from Dobby or was he still in the hospital wing? He couldn’t bring himself to ask one of the teachers, and asking a Slytherin was out of the question.

 

After dinner, Harry tried to study with Ron and Hermione, but his mind kept wandering between the Slytherin dormitory and the hospital wing. Finally, he decided to find out. He waited until his friends were spending more time looking at each other than studying and told them he was going to take a walk. As he expected, they only barely acknowledged his leaving the common room.

 

Madam Pomfrey looked up from administering a potion to a Gryffindor first year when Harry walked in. “What have you done to yourself this time?” she asked with a sigh.

 

“I’m fine,” Harry answered, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I was wondering – I wanted to see …” His eyes flickered over to the first year; he didn’t want all of Gryffindor to know he was asking about Malfoy. “Is Malfoy okay?” he whispered, but the girl obviously heard, because her eyes became as round as biscuits.

 

“His skull has healed nicely, but I’m keeping him one more night to ensure he sleeps well.” The Healer gave him a long look, and Harry shifted a little, wondering whether she knew he and Malfoy were enemies. Finally, she jerked her head toward the back of the ward and said, “Go on – he might enjoy having a visitor.”

 

Harry groaned inwardly – he knew this had been a bad idea. He stood there stupidly for a moment before he started babbling idiotically. “Er … I … well … no … I didn’t …”

 

Madam Pomfrey set the potion vial down impatiently and stalked toward the screened-off corner. “Mr. Malfoy, you have a visitor,” she said, peeking around the barrier.

 

“Bully for me,” came the familiar voice from behind the screen.

 

Harry couldn’t think of a way to escape easily, so he leaned toward the first year and whispered, “Please forget I was ever here,” before hurrying after the healer.

 

Malfoy was propped into a sitting position with pillows on the bed, a Daily Prophet in his lap. His eyes looked tired, but they widened in surprise when he saw his visitor. He recovered quickly and spoke, which was fortunate since Harry had no idea what to say.

 

“What do you want? Come to gloat, did you?”

 

“No, I …” Harry stammered. He looked at the floor, shrugged, and said, “I just wondered if you were okay.”

 

Malfoy was silent for a moment, and Harry chanced a glance at him. He looked even more surprised than when Harry had first entered. But then he scowled and said, “So now you’re the ‘Boy-Who-Cared’?”

 

Harry hated his nickname, so Malfoy’s mutilation of it riled his anger. “I knew this was a bad idea,” he said as he turned to leave.

 

“No, you’re the ‘Boy-Who-Has-To-Be-The-Hero’, aren’t you?” Malfoy snarled at Harry’s back. “Or what about the ‘Boy-Who-Meddled’?”

 

Harry could feel the fury spreading from his stomach to his chest as he turned to face the Slytherin. “What are you on about, Malfoy?”

 

“It was you in the dungeon hallway the other night, wasn’t it?” Malfoy accused, looking as angry as Harry felt.

 

Harry was shocked that the Slytherin had figured it out, but tried to school his features into a puzzled expression. Malfoy didn’t need to think he owed Harry any more favours; Harry was getting tired of those discussions. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Let me refresh your memory. I was … in need of my wand and … couldn’t get to it. Someone got my wand to me, but oddly enough, I couldn’t see them. Let’s see …” Malfoy tapped his head with an exaggerated gesture, as if pondering a puzzle, “… who do I know that has an invisibility cloak and a constant wish to be the hero?”

 

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry repeated. “That Bludger must have hit you pretty hard.”

 

“And Snape,” Malfoy continued, ignoring him, “you were the one who told Snape, weren’t you?”

 

“Oh yes,” Harry said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “Snape and I discussed it over tea – we have tea quite often, you know. Next week he’s going to adopt me.”

 

“It had to be you,” Malfoy protested, looking at the ceiling as if pondering. “You’re the only one outside Slytherin who …”

 

“I haven’t said a word to Snape about you,” Harry interrupted, relieved to be speaking truthfully. He waited, but Malfoy remained silent, staring at the ceiling as if it had the answer to the puzzle, his expression a mixture of confusion and anger. After a moment, Harry said, “Well, I can see that you’re okay, so if you’re finished accusing me of good deeds, I’ll be off.” He exited without giving the Slytherin a chance to speak.

 

On the way back to Gryffindor Tower, he thought about how uncomfortable he felt that he couldn’t tell his friends he was curious about Malfoy’s health. But he knew they wouldn’t understand. He didn’t understand it himself, and he certainly didn’t want to risk Ron’s anger again.

 

As he gave the Fat Lady the password, he suddenly remembered the first year girl and had a moment of panic, imagining that the common room would be filled with angry Gryffindors demanding to know if he had taken leave of his senses. But Ron and Hermione still looked glad to see him, and Harry relaxed. It appeared that the girl had kept quiet, at least so far.

 

***********************************************

 

The following evening the common room was full of odd noises and whimsical bubble shapes. Apparently the twins’ Halloween prank had inspired a rash of orders to Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes. After an hour spent trying to write a nasty essay for Potions that was due right after breakfast the next morning, Harry gave up and went to the library for some peace and quiet.

 

It was easy to find a table alone since most of the Gryffindors were cavorting in the common room, and the prefects were having their weekly meeting. Harry grimaced as he reflected that Ron and Hermione wouldn’t be back until curfew, if not later. They almost always disappeared together after prefect meetings, and he didn’t care to think about what they were doing.

 

Harry was so focused on his essay that he didn’t realize someone had approached the table until the voice startled him. He jumped and made a gurgling sound in his throat.

 

“Potter?” The voice sounded so uncertain that Harry didn’t know who it was until he looked up into Draco Malfoy’s face. The hesitancy in his expression disappeared quickly into a smirk, however, and the Slytherin continued, “Are you always this jumpy?”

 

“Only when evil gits stalk me in the library,” Harry said, but his tone was missing the usual venom. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

 

The uncertainty returned to Malfoy’s expression, but he met Harry’s eyes and asked, “Can I look at your DADA notes from this morning? Pomfrey kept me too long, and I missed class.”

 

Harry almost jumped again, but managed to restrain his surprise to a dumbfounded expression. “S-sure,” he said with a shrug. “Why not?” He pulled his bag into his lap and rummaged through it until he found the parchment with his notes. He started to hand them to Malfoy, but pulled the parchment back and said, “Wait – you’re not going to incinerate them, are you?”

 

The smirk returned to the Slytherin’s face and he said, “Not until after I copy them.” Harry realized his face must have registered a bit of fear, because Malfoy continued, “Come on, what are you risking? If I destroy them, you can always copy Granger’s.” He held out his hand, and Harry reluctantly gave him the parchment.

 

Malfoy looked around, shrugged, and sat down across from Harry. After digging in his bag for a moment, he pulled out a piece of blank parchment and two quills. Harry watched, fascinated, as the Slytherin positioned one quill atop his notes and murmured a spell. The quill stayed poised to write by itself while Malfoy charmed the other quill. Then he waved his wand over both quills with a second spell, and the quills began writing, one tracing each word of his notes, the other writing on the blank parchment. The Slytherin leaned back in his chair in a relaxing pose and watched the quills work.

 

“Useful charm,” Harry commented, “but a photocopy machine is faster.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Muggle technology. Used to make copies. It sort of takes a photograph of the paper … or document … and prints it,” Harry explained, still staring at the quills. “It wouldn’t work here, though – it runs on electricity.”

 

“A photograph, huh.” Harry looked up at the Slytherin; he appeared to be pondering this. “Well, this might be slower, but it’s better. A copy made the Muggle way would be in your handwriting, and I wouldn’t be able to read it. I’ve charmed this quill to write in my handwriting. Your penmanship is horrible, Potter!”

 

“I can read it,” Harry said sullenly.

 

“You can?” Malfoy asked, his face showing mock surprise. “Too bad – illegible notes would explain a lot – I thought I’d just discovered the reason you’re such a dunce in class.”

 

Harry started to get angry, especially since he was getting fairly good marks this year, but then had a thought. “You asked to borrow my notes,” he pointed out. “I must not be too stupid.”

 

“True,” Malfoy conceded. “I guess you’re not too bad in DADA. Anyway, you’re just about the only person in the class who will speak to me, so who else would I ask?”

 

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but closed it before the words came out. He was beginning to realize Malfoy’s insults were only a defence mechanism. If the Slytherin didn’t respect his defence abilities, he wouldn’t be participating in the DA.

 

When the quills stopped at the bottom of the parchment, Malfoy scooped them up and stuffed them in his bag, along with his copy of the notes. Then he stood up, said “Cheers” with a nod, and stalked out of the library. Harry watched him go, wondering what had just happened. Aside from a couple of weak insults, he and Malfoy had managed to have a civil conversation, and the Slytherin had actually thanked him. Odd.

 

Harry stuffed his Defence Against the Dark Arts notes back into his bag and put the incident out of his mind, forcing his thoughts back to Potions.

 

*****************************************************

 

Author’s notes: By the time Ginnysdarkside and Swishandflick have both caused me to make many changes in a chapter, I’ve read it so many times I can’t even see the errors any more. That’s where Gianfar (Gianfared on LiveJournal) comes in. I send her what I think is the final version, and she always finds at least a few errors. I’m so glad she’s willing to do that for me, despite all the chaos in her life right now!

 

Gia and I met on LiveJournal, and quickly realized we had many real life things in common. We started communicating via IM and have become great friends. She’s always fun, upbeat, and encouraging. I was especially excited when she drew me a great piece of artwork for this chapter. This is Harry and Draco in the library: http://www.livejournal.com/users/cindale/27909.html

 

Gianfar is the author of “The True Story of Harry Potter”, a cute chapter fic in which Draco Malfoy gets to tell his side of the story. Read it! http://www.astronomytower.org/authorLinks/Gianfar/The_True_Story_Of_Harry_Potter/

 

She’s also written several short stories, and has another chapter story in progress on her Live Journal. Check out her entire collection of Harry Potter fan fiction at her Yahoo Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/sillyscrolls/


	12. Celebration and Council

Author’s Notes: The rating is going up to PG-13 because I feel I'm pushing PG a bit (darned teenagers!). Thanks to Ginnysdarkside for her beta and wonderful comments. Thanks to Swishandflick for going over it three (yes three) times this time! Thanks to Dream Queen (my LJ friend) for giving it the once over before posting, and for pointing out a potential plot problem.

 

****************************************************

 

“Though one may be overpowered,

two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”

Ecclesiastes 4:12

 

*****************************************************

 

The next three weeks passed in a flurry of classes, extra lessons, homework, and rain. Care of Magical Creatures class was miserable, and their hour in Herbology was never long enough for them to dry out before they had to step back into yet another shower.

 

As if on cue, on December first, the rain changed to sleet. Ron finally gave up on Quidditch practice and they slipped and slid their way back to the castle, shivering violently. Harry knew Ron was getting frantic about their first game, which was scheduled for the following weekend. Their practices should have been intensifying, but most of them had been worthless because of the vision-impairing downpours. Harry’s only comfort was that the Ravenclaw team probably hadn’t fared any better.

 

After warming showers, Harry and Ron went down to the common room to meet Hermione for lunch. A crowd was gathered around the bulletin board and the room was full of excited tittering. “What’s going on?” Harry asked Hermione, who was waiting for them by the portrait hole.

 

“On the last night of term, there’s going to be a feast, with a concert afterwards,” Hermione explained with an enthusiastic smile. “They’re calling it the Christmas Celebration. They’re going to let us sit at small tables instead of the house tables.”

 

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Ron said, nodding his head toward the excited crowd as he climbed through the portrait hole.

 

Hermione made a noise of annoyance and rolled her eyes. “They’re trying to give us a chance to have dates, Ron. Honestly!”

 

Harry’s heart sank as they descended the stairs to lunch. Not this again! The thought of lunch was suddenly unappetizing as panic filled his stomach and he wondered frantically who to ask.

 

“Well, Harry,” said Ron with a philosophical air, “at least you don’t have to ask anyone this time – no pressure.”

 

“That’s right,” Harry said with a relieved grin, feeling a bit silly. There was no Triwizard Tournament, no champions. He was suddenly ravenous.

 

“And as for me,” Ron continued, “I’ve already got a date.” He smirked at Hermione, but apparently failed to notice the annoyed expression that briefly crossed her face.

 

“Really?” she asked him, her eyes widening in mock surprise. “Who are you taking, Ron?”

 

Ron’s face reddened, and he stammered, “Y-you?”

 

“Me?” Hermione said in an innocent tone with a sickly sweet smile. “I don’t have a date yet – no one has asked me.”

 

Harry had to suppress a laugh as Ron continued to stammer uncertainly.

 

Over the next week, Harry began to feel nervous about the Christmas Celebration. He couldn’t escape discussions and speculation about it; his girl-crazy dorm mates talked of little else. Ron had finally managed to properly ask Hermione, and the other three had found dates straight away. They all kept trying to bully him into asking someone, especially Seamus and Dean, but he honestly couldn’t think of anyone he liked enough.

 

“I really don’t want a date,” Harry insisted for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I’ll just sit with Ron and Hermione.”

 

However, he was beginning to feel awkward about planning to hang around his friends when they were on their first significant date. Even though he didn’t have any desire to talk to Seamus and Dean about it, he was increasingly thinking he should ask someone just so he wouldn’t be the odd man out.

 

As the others moved toward the door to leave for breakfast one morning, Harry shot Ron a significant glance, telling him without words that he needed to talk to him privately. Ron hung back and gave Harry a questioning look as Neville, Seamus, and Dean left the dormitory.

 

“Do you think Ginny might go with me to the celebration?” Harry asked, feeling ill at ease asking Ron about his sister. “You know, just so I would have someone to sit with – so we won’t be an odd number?”

 

“Sorry, Harry,” Ron said with a sigh. “Ginny’s going with Summerby – the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain. Hermione told me yesterday.” Ron looked disappointed, but Harry couldn’t imagine why; Summerby seemed like a decent fellow.

 

“Well, thanks,” Harry said, feeling even more uncomfortable. “I would have felt really stupid if I had asked her.”

 

Ron gave him an odd look, as if he wanted to say something more, but only shrugged and turned to leave.

 

By Thursday evening, worries about the upcoming Quidditch match had forced the Christmas Celebration from Harry’s mind. The sleet had given way to snow, which was coming down lightly enough so that visibility, although limited, was the best they’d had in weeks. The three Chasers, however, still weren’t working as a team. It seemed they didn’t trust each other enough to risk passing, and Andrew, when he would pass, was still throwing the Quaffle as violently as if he were hitting a Bludger. The two Beaters kept targeting the same person instead of splitting the field, apparently having no confidence in each other. Harry was starting to realize the advantages of having three Chasers who were best friends and Beaters who were twins.

 

Ron tended to get aggravated with everyone and miss blocking easy shots, which only served to fluster him even more. All in all, Harry thought their best strategy would be for him to catch the Golden Snitch as quickly as possible so they wouldn’t be horribly embarrassed.

 

Although the ground was piled knee deep with snow on the morning of the match against Ravenclaw, the sky was cloudless and blue. Harry was a little heartened by the weather; at least he should be able to easily spot the Snitch. He hadn’t been able to eat breakfast; there wasn’t any room with whatever was wiggling around in his stomach.

 

As he hovered in the air waiting for Madam Hooch to release the Quaffle, he looked over the Ravenclaw team, and an icy hand clutched at his chest. He had been trying not to think about it, but now he couldn’t deny the fact that Cho should have been hovering opposite him. Instead, the Seeker was Orla Quirke. She looked up, caught his eye, and started to nod, but her face clouded, and she suddenly appeared close to tears. Harry wondered what in his expression could have upset her and tried to force a smile to reassure her.

 

The whistle to signal the beginning of the game tore his attention away from Orla. It was surprisingly easy to force the incident from his mind since his team started playing badly straightaway.

 

Harry didn’t think it was possible for the team to be worse than in practice, but he was wrong. Ginny and Katie refused to pass to Andrew, who was positioned in the middle. This resulted in the three Chasers being bunched together, making an easy target for the Ravenclaw Beaters. Twenty minutes into the game, Andrew was hit in the head with a Bludger. Ron called a time-out, and Andrew recovered after a few moments, but the Chaser’s already miniscule confidence was shaken considerably, and he attempted nothing beyond keeping up with the other Chasers for the remainder of the game. Two Chasers, even when working fairly well together, were no match for the Ravenclaw Beaters and Keeper.

 

Ron had been doing fairly well up until Andrew’s injury, but began missing easy blocks after that. It seemed he could never be at the right hoop at the right time, and Ravenclaw scored goal after goal. Jack and Stacey had the potential to be very good Beaters, but they kept up their practice of going after the same player, which allowed the other two Ravenclaw Chasers the freedom to score.

 

After almost an hour had passed, Ravenclaw was ahead by 110 points and Harry was beginning to panic. If the other team was allowed to draw ahead by more than 150 points, Gryffindor would lose, even if Harry caught the Snitch.

 

He concentrated on searching for the Snitch and ignoring the game below, which wasn’t very difficult since the match was painful to watch. Finally, he saw the familiar glimmer of gold behind one of the goalposts Ron was guarding. The Ravenclaw Seeker joined him as he raced toward it, but he easily reached it ahead of her and closed his hand around it. Harry felt a pang in his stomach as he realized that Cho would have given him more of a challenge.

 

He didn’t realize Gryffindor had managed to win by ten points until he reached the ground and the celebration of his team mates. Ron slapped him on the back and murmured, “Thanks for rescuing us, mate.” Harry nodded and grinned, euphoria at winning quickly replacing all the negative feelings he’d had earlier.

 

Harry turned away as Hermione rushed up to Ron and gave him a congratulatory kiss. Ginny, Katie, and even Stacey gave Harry brief hugs, and Jack’s slap on the back almost knocked him over. He turned to make his way to the changing rooms and found himself face to face with Draco Malfoy.

 

“Good catch,” said the Slytherin with a smirk.

 

Harry was surprised but grinned and said, “Cheers. You too – I mean, in your game a few weeks ago.” Malfoy nodded and moved on.

 

Harry was suddenly famished, so he showered quickly and rushed to the castle, leaving his broom in the dormitory before hurrying down to lunch with Ron and Hermione. Ron’s excitement about winning had evaporated to be replaced by his disappointment in their dismal performance, and he and Harry talked in low tones about the specific problems the team was having as they ate.

 

After lunch, Hermione said she was going to the library to study, apparently tired of all the Quidditch talk. Ron barely acknowledged her, still deep in discussion with Harry. The two of them left the Great Hall together, almost running into Luna at the door.

 

“Congratulations Ron, Harry,” she said, nodding to them. “I would say good game, but it was actually awful, wasn’t it? It was really rather lucky you caught the Snitch, wasn’t it Harry?”

 

“Th-thanks, Luna,” Harry stammered, feeling annoyed. He tried to move on since Ron was very sensitive about Quidditch and was sure to get angry.

 

“You know, Ron,” Luna continued, “there’s a quiz in the Quibbler this month that might help your team. It helps you identify your true astrological sign, not the one you were born under. The whole team should take it.”

 

The colour of Ron’s face deepened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Harry elbowed him in the ribs. “Thanks, Luna,” he said again. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

 

“I’ll owl it to you,” she said with a nod, and turned to walk away.

 

“Astrological signs,” Ron spat. “What is she on about?”

 

Harry gave a small laugh as his annoyance gave way to amusement. “Who knows – maybe it would help,” he suggested. He knew most of the school was likely blaming Gryffindor’s dismal performance on the new captain, and he was relieved that at least the outspoken Ravenclaw had not made a comment along that vein.

 

“Astrological signs,” Ron repeated in a disparaging voice as they started up the stairs. “Hermione said something one time about our signs being compatible, but likely to be tumultuous together. That stuff is so stupid.”

 

Harry choked back a laugh, but his amusement faded quickly; Ron’s mention of his relationship with Hermione reminded him that he still didn’t have a date to the Christmas Celebration, now less than a week away. He suddenly realized he hadn’t heard Luna’s name paired with a boy’s in the gossip about the celebration, even though all the other girls he knew seemed to have dates. “Ron, you go on up,” he said. “I need to do something.”

 

Ron gave him a puzzled look, but complied, and Harry caught up with Luna before she reached the stairs to Ravenclaw Tower, calling her name to get her attention.

 

“Would you go with me to the Christmas Celebration?” he asked, a little breathless from hurrying.

 

Her eyes immediately lost their normal dreaminess, and she gave him a calculating look. “Hmmm. You’re a Leo, but that might work. Do you know your real sign?”

 

He shook his head, suddenly becoming nervous, and wondering what had possessed him to follow this impulse. He wished he had thought it through first.

 

She gazed at him intently for a few moments and then seemed to come to a decision. “Well, I’d rather go with Ronald, but he’s in love with Hermione, so I guess it would be okay to go with you.”

 

Harry wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed that she told him she preferred Ron or to be glad that she accepted, so he settled for forcing a smile, saying, “Great – well – I’ll see you around,” and turning to hurry back to Gryffindor Tower.

 

Ron was building a house with Exploding Snap cards when Harry reached the common room. He hurried over to his friend, pulled up a chair beside him, and said, “Well, I’ve got a date for the Celebration.”

 

“Well done!” Ron said, his eyes lighting up. Then his face clouded and he frowned. “Harry, mate, please tell me you didn’t ask Luna.”

 

“I did,” Harry said defiantly. “At least she won’t constantly pump me for information like …” he lowered his voice and leaned toward Ron, “… like Lavender.”

 

Ron shrugged and rolled his eyes. “No, she’ll just talk crazy all night. What possessed you, Harry?”

 

Harry shrugged. “She’s a friend, and I didn’t want to go alone. You don’t have to sit with us, you know.”

 

“No, it’s okay Harry,” Ron said quickly with an expression of slight remorse. He smiled, but Harry could see it was forced. “It might be fun.”

 

Harry shrugged again and picked up a card to add to the house. He was beginning to regret the whim that had compelled him to ask Luna. It occurred to him that he really didn’t want to sit with Ron and Hermione at the Celebration since Luna had made it obvious that she had a crush on Ron. He suddenly remembered why he hated dating and wondered why he had bothered.

 

******************************

 

The butterflies in Harry’s stomach beat their wings frantically as he and Remus rode up the spiral staircase to Dumbledore’s office. His guardian gave him a reassuring smile as he opened the door and moved aside to let Harry enter ahead of him.

 

It appeared the office had been elongated to allow for a long conference table. Harry confirmed this by looking up at the walls, which were normally full of portraits; now there were a few large spaces, as if some had disappeared. Dumbledore’s desk was nowhere to be seen.

 

Harry looked around nervously at the people seated around the table, most of whom he knew. Arthur and Bill Weasley were there, as well as Professors McGonagall and Shacklebolt. There was a stately-looking witch sitting next to Shacklebolt that Harry recognized, but couldn’t place. Mad-Eye Moody occupied the seat at one end, presumably the foot, since Dumbledore himself was seated at the head.

 

Harry could feel all the eyes in the room upon him as he and Remus took two of the remaining chairs. He nodded to acknowledge those he knew and realized most were looking at him curiously, as if wondering why he was there. Mr. Weasley gave him a huge grin, even though his eyes showed confusion, and Harry felt slightly less frightened.

 

Dumbledore cleared his throat, causing everyone at the table to look at him expectantly. Harry was relieved at the shift in attention, even though he knew it was only temporary.

 

Before Dumbledore could speak, the door opened silently and Snape glided in, taking the only empty chair, which was, unfortunately, right across from Harry. With his angry black eyes fixed on Harry, he said, “I apologize for my tardiness, Headmaster, but I must ask you – why is this child present?”

 

“He is here on my invitation, Severus. I daresay your curiosity will be satisfied momentarily, but first we have other matters to attend to. Your report, for instance.”

 

Snape’s eyes lost none of their unpleasantness as he turned his attention to the headmaster. “He is planning an attack during the Christmas holidays, but I have been unable to get any details. As you know, his current modus operandi is to only give details to the Death Eaters who will be directly involved, and then not until the last possible moment.”

 

Harry couldn’t help wondering, as he had before, if Snape was only pretending to spy for Dumbledore and was really loyal to Voldemort. How could they really know if Snape was telling the truth about how much information he had? It seemed to Harry that the Potions Master could easily be feeding Dumbledore just enough intelligence to keep his trust.

 

Before the headmaster could answer, Harry broke in. “Why don’t we just storm into his headquarters during a Death Eater meeting and kill them all? Wouldn’t that end this quickly?”

 

Snape gave Harry a look that made him grateful for the table between them. “If you insist on being present, you could at least hold your infernal tongue!”

 

“Harry’s question is a logical one,” Dumbledore protested, holding up a hand and causing Snape to turn his livid eyes to him. “Severus, as well as most of the other Death Eaters, has no idea where Voldemort is hiding, nor the location of the meetings. The Dark Mark allows them to Apparate directly to his side without knowing where they are going.”

 

Harry nodded, but was only slightly reassured that Snape was loyal to the Order.

 

“I don’t really know what we can do about Christmas,” said Moody. “We don’t know the exact day or time of the attack – we don’t even know where.”

 

“If I were to venture a guess,” Snape said, “I would expect it on Christmas Day. The Dark Lord will certainly not respect a holiday, and that is when it will be least expected.”

 

“Moody has gone back to the Ministry as Head of the Auror Division,” Remus whispered to Harry as Moody briefly discussed cancelling time off for Aurors.

 

When Moody was finished, Dumbledore nodded his appreciation to him and turned to Mr. Weasley. “You had something to report about Death Eater activity in the Ministry?”

 

For some reason, Mr. Weasley looked very uncomfortable at being called on to speak; he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and avoided everyone’s eyes. “Yes. It has come to my attention that the Death Eaters are having some success in recruiting, especially among the younger employees. They present their arguments in an idealistic manner to these ambitious, impressionable young people, and the recruits apparently have no idea they’re really working for You-Know-Who. I believe …” Mr. Weasley’s hands began shaking, but he swallowed, blinked his eyes slowly, and continued. “I believe my son Percy was a part of this group.”

 

Harry stifled a gasp; thankfully only Remus noticed, and searched his face quizzically, but Harry glued his eyes to the wall. He sincerely hoped Percy had been one of these recruits, and hadn’t known he was working for Voldemort. It occurred to him that this information might help Ron get past his anger at Percy, and he resolved to tell Ron and Ginny as soon as he returned to the common room.

 

He came out of his reverie as Dumbledore gently turned the subject to the goblins and recognized Bill, who seemed to be relieved at the change in topic.

 

“They’re still holding out to see who offers them the best deal,” Bill reported in a subdued voice, “but Fudge isn’t helping my negotiations. He’s reluctant to give them any additional rights, and Voldemort seems to be promising them the world.”

 

“If we lose the support of the goblins, we could lose Gringotts,” remarked Professor McGonagall.

 

“What about the centaurs and mermaids?” asked Remus in his quiet manner.

 

“Emmeline?” Dumbledore prompted, nodding at the stately-looking witch. Harry suddenly remembered why she looked familiar; she was one of his “advance guard” when he was transported to Order Headquarters during the summer before his fifth year.

 

“We have the full support of the all the mermaid colonies in Britain, and I understand the Azkaban project is going well?” The witch shot Moody a questioning look.

 

“Yes,” he drawled, focusing his good eye on her while his magical eye took in the other faces at the table. “In fact, the mermaids are doing such a fine job guarding Azkaban that we should soon be able to decrease the number of Aurors stationed there.” His magical eye roved suspiciously around the room. “You’re sure this room is secure, Dumbledore? I wish you had let me check it out.”

 

Dumbledore merely gave the Auror an indulgent smile and nodded. “And the centaurs, Emmeline?”

 

“The centaurs are loyal only to themselves,” she replied with a sigh. “We’re still negotiating with them, if you can call it negotiating. The good news is that they aren’t likely to help the Death Eaters, either, and if someone tries to invade the forest on Hogwarts grounds, they will defend their territory.”

 

“Well, that is something,” Dumbledore commented, nodding. “We have been largely unsuccessful with the giants, unfortunately, but Voldemort has not fared much better. We do have one giant living close by who will defend Hagrid at all costs.” Apparently this was news to almost everyone in the room; Harry heard several gasps of surprise. He knew the headmaster must be talking about Grawp, Hagrid’s half-brother. “I understand that the giant might also defend Harry and Hermione.”

 

All eyes in the room focused on Harry in stunned disbelief except Dumbledore’s, which instead were giving Harry a questioning look. “W-well,” he managed, “maybe … we-we’ve met … and he remembered Hermione’s name … and he helped us once … but I’m not sure if he was defending us … I think it was more that he distracted the centaurs …” He broke off, looking at the faces around him. Snape looked furious, Bill looked impressed, but Remus and Mr. Weasley both looked as if they wanted to question Harry further. The expression on Remus’s face was disturbingly similar to Snape’s. “It was last year,” he tried to explain. “We were trying to get away from Umbridge and … it’s a long story,” he said, giving Dumbledore a pleading look.

 

“Yes,” said the headmaster, “I believe that’s a tale for another time. But that brings our attention to the main topic of this meeting.

 

“I have called together today the most trusted members of the Order to ask for your advice and help in a particular matter. I must, of course, ask you not to share the following information with anyone else.” Dumbledore looked around the table, catching the eyes of each of them in turn. His gaze rested a little longer on Harry than the others, and Harry understood that he was not to tell even Ron and Hermione what he was about to hear.

 

“As many of you know, Voldemort is determined to kill Harry because of a prophecy made before he was born that implies that Harry has the power to defeat him. What some of you might not be aware of is that the prophecy also implies that Harry is the only one who can defeat him, and that Harry must either kill Voldemort or be killed by him.”

 

Harry swallowed as all eyes in the room again turned to him and he heard several gasps. Mr. Weasley and Bill had both gone pale, and everyone had a mixture of pity and fear in their expressions, which made Harry feel a bit impatient.

 

Dumbledore opened his mouth to continue, but Mr. Weasley spoke first. “You said the prophecy implies these things. Couldn’t it be talking about someone else?”

 

“No,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. “The prophecy also says that Voldemort will mark the person. Harry has clearly been marked.”

 

Mr. Weasley nodded once and bowed his head, looking close to tears. Oddly, Harry’s heart gave a little leap at the realization that Mr. Weasley cared so much about him.

 

“As you can see, Harry’s protection and training are of the utmost importance in winning this war. We are doing everything we can to prepare Harry. He is taking private lessons to learn to defend both his mind and his body. At this point in time, the safest place for him is Hogwarts, but I am becoming concerned about Hogwarts’ security. The wards around the castle and grounds are weakening. I fear we have a traitor among the staff.”

 

No one spoke for a moment, apparently shocked beyond speech. Moody recovered first.

 

“When do you want me to question them?” he asked. “One at a time – I’ll find out who it is if it’s the last thing I do, Dumbledore.”

 

“No, Alastor,” said the headmaster. “The conspirator is unaware that we know. It might prove more useful to use stealth, in this instance.”

 

“So you think the attack at Christmas will be here?” asked Mr. Weasley, looking back and forth between Dumbledore and Snape.

 

Dumbledore and Snape seemed to be waiting for each other to speak; finally the headmaster said, “No. I don’t think the defences are weak enough for an attack.”

 

“But how do you know the wards are weakening?” asked Bill.

 

The headmaster gave a heavy sigh and looked older than ever. “Because they are tied to my physical health. I have been feeling the wards deteriorating for months now, but it was confirmed in October when Harry was able to get through them to travel to Hogsmeade during the battle. It is an ancient blood magic – a bond that is only broken upon my death.”

 

There was another pause in the conversation, broken after a moment by Professor McGonagall. “What do you want us to do, Albus?”

 

Dumbledore gazed at her with an unreadable expression for a few moments before answering. “Trust no one except each other.” He gave Mr. Weasley a small smile. “And Molly, of course. Those of you who live here at Hogwarts need to be my extended eyes and ears. Take unexpected walks on the grounds, roam the castle during the night on occasion. Of course,” his eyes suddenly pierced into Harry’s, “that doesn’t apply to you, Harry. I know you are weary of hearing it, but it bears repeating – your safety is vital to our success against Voldemort.”

 

Harry nodded and looked at his lap, barely hearing the closing remarks as Dumbledore dismissed the meeting. He was a little startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up into the drawn, pale face of Mr. Weasley.

 

“No boy your age should have such a burden,” he said in a quiet, but heavy voice.

 

Harry shrugged with his free shoulder. “I found out about it last spring – I’ve had six months to get used to the idea.”

 

“If you ever need anything – anything at all – even just to talk – you know Molly and I will be here faster than you can say ‘Apparate’…”

 

“That goes for me, too,” said Bill, standing behind his father.

 

“You’re part of our family, you know,” said Mr. Weasley.

 

Harry tried to swallow a lump in his throat as he looked into Mr. Weasley’s eyes, so full of love and concern. He was only able to nod and murmur, “Thanks,” and was grateful when Mr. Weasley squeezed his shoulder and left the office.

 

*****************************************

 

It took all of Harry’s will to force himself to walk down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room the night of the Christmas Celebration. He actually envied Ron’s confidence, and couldn’t help thinking how nice it would be to have a girlfriend at times like this. Hermione and Ginny were waiting near the portrait hole. Ron walked boldly up to Hermione and told her she looked beautiful. She blushed slightly, but then turned deep red when Ron leaned over and whispered an additional comment and kissed her on the neck just below the ear.

 

“I’m meeting Matthew downstairs,” Ginny explained as she and Harry followed Ron and Hermione out of the portrait hole. She gave a little giggle. “Don’t look so terrified, Harry. I’ve seen Luna’s dress robes – I think you’ll be pleased.”

 

Harry gave her a grateful look; he had wondered if a girl who had been known to wear a hat topped with a lion’s head and turnips for earrings could wear something normal to a party.

 

When they reached the entrance hall, Ginny hurried off to find Summerby, and Harry began searching the crowd for Luna. He had almost given up when a girl he had never seen before came up to him and said, “Are you ready to go in? We’re sitting with Ginny and Matthew.”

 

Harry stared dumbly at the girl for a moment before recognizing the characteristic dreamy expression in her eyes. Luna’s normally stringy blonde hair was swept back into an elegant knot with a curly tendril dangling from each side. Her normally pale cheeks had an uncharacteristic blush and her large eyes were accented with blue, making them appear even larger.

 

His eyes travelled downward and froze. Because of the bulky school robes, he had never noticed Luna’s body before, and certain parts were rather advanced for her age. He finally managed to tear his eyes away from her chest, only to catch his breath as he noticed how her robes accentuated her tiny waist and allowed a generous glimpse of her legs.

 

“Harry?” her voice prodded, and he forced his eyes back to her concerned face. “Are you okay?”

 

“S-sorry,” Harry managed to stammer. “Y-you l-look b-b-beautiful.”

 

“Oh, good,” she said with a sigh of relief. “My roommates heard I was going with you, and they insisted on dressing me up like this. I think I look rather stupid, but I’m glad you seem to like it. Honestly,” she said, shaking her head, “they act like you’re some kind of celebrity.” Harry stared at her in stunned disbelief for a moment. Finally she grabbed his arm and steered him into the Great Hall.

 

They joined Ginny and Summerby at a small table for four. Harry was a bit relieved when Luna immediately struck up a conversation with Ginny, and he spent the dinner chatting about Quidditch with Summerby. They carefully avoided discussing the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff teams, but had a good time analysing the strengths and weaknesses of the Ravenclaw and Slytherin squads. Summerby was also knowledgeable about a number of professional teams and kept Harry entertained with amusing stories from games he had attended.

 

After dinner, the students shifted their chairs around to face the stage that had been set up at one end of the hall. Harry watched as Summerby pushed his chair as close as possible to Ginny’s and draped his arm around her shoulders. Harry felt a burning sensation in his lower chest that almost felt like anger; he was concerned that Summerby was two years older than Ginny and might take advantage of her. She was like a sister to him, after all.

 

Then Luna pushed her chair around the corner of the table, positioning it next to Harry’s, and sat close enough that Harry could smell her perfume, which, almost surprisingly, wasn’t unpleasant. This effectively drove all thoughts of Ginny from his mind, and he wondered if he should put his arm around her, but decided he probably shouldn’t on their first date. However, when he looked at her, his gaze travelling below her dreamy expression, his arm seemed to have a mind of its own and snaked around her shoulders.

 

Harry was surprised when Lee Jordan walked onto the stage, apparently the Master of Ceremonies for the evening. Then he remembered Ron mentioning something about Lee getting a job as an announcer on the Wizard Wireless Network. Lee told several jokes, a couple of them slightly off-colour, and then announced the first act, a band called “Wand Polish” who were new and trying to make a name for themselves.

 

The music had a good beat, and Harry found himself tapping his foot and enjoying it. About halfway through the second song, a slower one, he was surprised to hear a quiet giggle from Luna. “That tickles,” she whispered, and Harry was a bit embarrassed to realize he had been unconsciously stroking her bare upper arm with his hand. He jerked his arm away, mumbling an apology, and put his hands firmly in his lap, then stared in amazement as Luna said, “I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” and grabbed his hand, holding it lightly.

 

The warmth that had flooded Harry’s face when he was embarrassed stayed with him. The fingers that were interlaced with hers tingled, not because he was holding her hand but because he was remembering the soft feel of the skin on her arm.

 

The first band finished their set, and the next band started setting up to play. Lee used the time in between to tell a few more jokes, this time at the expense of several of the Hogwarts staff. Harry looked at the faculty in alarm. Most were wearing forced smiles, but Dumbledore was laughing appreciatively.

 

The next band wasn’t nearly as good as the first, and Harry’s mind began to wander. Oddly, he found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss Luna. His face grew even warmer, and he pulled impatiently at his collar.

 

“Are you hot?” Luna whispered over the noise of the band.

 

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. He wanted to leave the Great Hall to get some fresh air, but didn’t want to seem rude.

 

Luna solved the dilemma by suggesting, “Want to go for a walk? I don’t think anyone will notice if we slip out.”

 

Harry looked around furtively and nodded at Luna. On the way out of the Great Hall, he noticed that Ron and Hermione had disappeared from their table. In fact, it appeared that several couples had had the same idea.

 

Harry desperately wanted to go outside, but he was sure Luna would get cold without her cloak. It helped tremendously, however, just to get out of the Great Hall, and he soon found himself enjoying wandering the dark corridors of the castle hand in hand with Luna.

 

She stopped suddenly and pulled him to a window. “Look! We can see Venus tonight!” She pointed out the window with her free hand, and Harry followed her finger to what looked like a very bright star. He thought about asking her why she was so excited about Venus, but it occurred to him that he might not like the answer. Besides, it felt much better to put his arm around her shoulder and pull her close, letting his fingers trail on the soft skin of her arm once again.

 

Luna continued to gaze at the sky and said, “The moon will be full next week. The full moon always makes me think of Professor Lupin. Remember him? He was my favourite teacher.” Harry stiffened when Luna first mentioned Remus, but relaxed when she spoke well of him. “I wish he could have stayed,” she continued. “I don’t think anyone really cared that he was a werewolf. I wonder how he’s doing sometimes. You know …” she suddenly turned to face Harry. “… he was in the Department of Mysteries when we went last year, wasn’t he? I thought I saw him.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said. He paused for a moment and then decided to say, “He’s my legal guardian. And he’s doing well.” He didn’t think he should tell her that Remus was staying at the castle.

 

“Really?” she said, her eyes brightening with joy. “That’s brilliant. Wow! You’re so lucky – having a werewolf for a guardian. Sometimes I envy them a bit – not the painful transformation, but getting to run wild and free.” That comment caused Harry to think of Remus running wild in the Forbidden Forest with his father and Sirius, and a warm, happy feeling filled his stomach and seeped upward into his chest.

 

He looked into Luna’s eyes, and his hand reached out to touch her face, seemingly of its own accord. The skin on her cheek was even softer than her arm, and he couldn’t help wondering how her lips felt. As he started to lean toward her, Luna said, “You’re going to kiss me, aren’t you?”

 

He stopped and searched her eyes. “I-is that okay?”

 

In response, she put her arms around his neck, pulled him closer, brushed her lips against his, and smiled. Harry wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again.

 

They stood in their embrace for what seemed like a very long time. The rational part of Harry’s brain completely shut down and he succumbed to the sensations he was experiencing: the silky texture of her robes, the gentle curve of her spine, the feel of her hands caressing his back and intertwining with his hair. Oddly, when her tongue began to gently explore his mouth, all sensations suddenly centred on his groin, and he pulled her closer, desperately wanting more of the intoxicating feeling. Her hands drifted down his back, and then lower, pulling his hips snug against hers.

 

The friction of her hips against his felt good, too good, and his brain suddenly reengaged. He broke off and took a step backward with his hands in the air. “I-I-I th-think … i-it’s time … I’ll walk you back to the tower. I mean your tower. Ravenclaw.”

 

She looked into his eyes for a moment, as if searching for something, but then the familiar dreaminess returned, and she said, “I went too far, didn’t I? Dad warned me - it’s the seventh year of the vulmak’s mating cycle, and their pheromones are particularly potent to humans.”

 

Harry barely heard what she said; he was too desperate to get back to dormitory and find out whether a cold shower was as effective as he had heard from his roommates. He was surprised when Luna stopped in front of a painting after only walking for a few minutes; he hadn’t realized they were so close to Ravenclaw Tower.

 

“I’m glad you asked me to the celebration,” she said, her huge eyes giving him an oddly calculating look. “I really had fun. Did you?”

 

“Yeah,” he said, surprising himself a little. “I did.”

 

She continued to eye him, as if waiting for something. Harry wondered if he should just head back to Gryffindor Tower, but finally, she spoke. “I think it’s customary to kiss goodnight. It’s okay – I think I can control myself now.”

 

Harry couldn’t help a silly grin, and he leaned over and lightly brushed her lips with his. “Goodnight, Luna,” he said and headed quickly to Gryffindor Tower.


	13. Happy Christmas

As always, thanks to Ginnysdarkside, Swishandflick, and Gianfared for their excellent beta reading and coaching. *Glomps them*

 

Remus Lupin’s journal is mentioned in this chapter. After I wrote that scene, I had an insane uncontrollable urge to write the journal. So I started it! Right now, I’m posting entries on LiveJournal in his name. Eventually, I plan to put them together into chapters and post them on Fiction Alley. If you’d like to read it as I write it, here’s the URL: http://www.livejournal.com/users/rjljournal/

 

If you’re not familiar with LiveJournal, you need to know that the entries are listed latest first, so you need to go to the bottom of the page to read them in order. Also, you can click on “rjljournal’s” at the top of the page to read his profile. Comments are welcome, but only as feedback to me. Remus will not answer comments since he’s not expecting anyone to read his journal.

 

**********************************************************

 

“Oh the happiest Christmas

Is a homecoming Christmas

With the snow fluttering down ‘til the world seems new

Bright candles burning

Old friends returning

The wishes of children coming true

And the happiest wishes are just old fashioned wishes

May your days be merry, your sorrows be small

May the ones you love be near you

That’s the happiest Christmas of all”

“The Happiest Christmas” by Myles Rudge and Ted Dicks

(on Michael W. Smith’s “Christmastime” CD)

 

*************************************************************

 

Harry watched with amusement as Hermione showed her parents around the Gryffindor common room and Ron trailed behind them looking uncomfortable. Earlier, Harry had asked Ron why he was so nervous; he had met Hermione’s parents before, after all.

 

“That was before I was her boyfriend,” he explained in an intense voice. “What if they don’t like me? What if they don’t think I’m good enough for her?”

 

Harry had tried to reassure him, but was bewildered by Ron’s attitude and wondered why he was taking this so seriously.

 

It had been Dumbledore’s idea for the Weasleys and Grangers to spend Christmas at Hogwarts. It was difficult to bring Muggles to the castle, since they couldn’t see it, but the headmaster felt the risk of transporting Hermione was nearly as great as the threat to Harry. Of course, the destruction of the Burrow over the summer had proven that Ron would always be a target.

 

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had arrived earlier that day, and Mrs. Weasley had wasted no time in decorating the common room. However, when she went to the kitchens to speak to the house-elves, Ginny had quietly incinerated all the mistletoe adorning the room. Harry watched her curiously, wondering if she was upset that her new boyfriend couldn’t join them for Christmas, but not really wanting to ask. He didn’t know why she was so worried about mistletoe; almost everyone she might be “forced” to kiss was family.

 

The thought of kissing naturally caused Harry’s mind to wander to Luna. He wondered, as he had many times since the Christmas Celebration, whether he would be allowed to kiss her when she returned from the holidays. Even though he had been a bit frightened by his body’s reaction to her, he couldn’t deny that he had enjoyed it very much. He had thought about sending her an owl, but couldn’t think what to say, having never corresponded with her before.

 

Harry was jerked back to the present by a cry from Ron and couldn’t help laughing at the sight of him on his back at the bottom of the stairs leading to the girl’s dormitory. “Didn’t you learn your lesson last year?” Harry managed to choke out.

 

“But Mr. Granger …” Ron sputtered. “He’s … he’s a bloke.” Mr. Granger had successfully followed his wife and daughter halfway up the stairs; only the bottom half of the staircase had flattened into a ramp, apparently knocking Ron to the ground.

 

The Grangers had stopped and turned confused faces toward Ron. Hermione, obviously struggling not to laugh, explained to her parents about the trick stairs as Ron struggled to his feet. “But I don’t know why the stairs are letting you up, Dad,” she finished.

 

“Maybe they read intention,” said Ginny in a falsely helpful tone, laying aside the book she had been reading. “I’m sure Mr. Granger’s intentions toward Hermione are honourable.”

 

Harry stifled a laugh as Ron glared murderously at Ginny, but he did feel a bit sorry for his furiously blushing friend; Ginny’s comment certainly wasn’t making Ron feel more at ease around the Grangers.

 

“Actually, it’s probably age,” said Hermione, smirking at Ginny. She caught Ron’s eye before continuing upstairs and gave him an encouraging smile. “We’ll be right back, Ron.”

 

As soon as the Grangers were out of earshot, Ron turned back to Ginny and growled, “I hope you enjoy your last meal tonight.”

 

“You wouldn’t kill your baby sister on Christmas Eve, would you?” Ginny asked in a sickly sweet voice, batting her eyelashes.

 

The imminent row was disrupted when the portrait swung open and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came through, followed closely by Bill and Charlie. Ginny gave a squeal at the sight of her two oldest brothers, and Ron seemed to forget his anger as he rushed to the door. Harry leaned back in his chair and watched the ensuing reunion with a smile. Once they had greeted their siblings, Bill and Charlie hurried over to Harry and each shook his hand warmly.

 

Dinner in the Great Hall that night was a grand affair. Everyone, including faculty, sat together at one of the long house tables. A few other students had stayed at Hogwarts for the holidays, but Mrs. Weasley simply adopted them as her own children for the evening. She was definitely the mother hen of the group, making sure everyone from the Hufflepuff first year to Dumbledore himself had enough to eat.

 

The Grangers seemed bewildered by all the magic around them, but by the time pudding was served (and they had consumed a quantity of wine) they had relaxed considerably. Harry thought Ron looked like he could use some wine; Fred and George teased him mercilessly about Hermione all through dinner, and Ron kept glancing nervously at Mr. Granger as if afraid he would overhear.

 

Harry’s attention was diverted to a quiet argument between Mrs. Weasley and Snape. “Just stop by Gryffindor Tower for a few minutes for some tea tomorrow,” Mrs. Weasley pleaded. “No one should spend Christmas alone.”

 

Snape looked as if he was struggling to bite back a sarcastic retort, and Harry looked down at his pudding to hide his smirk. “I assure you, Molly, your pity is unwarranted,” Snape said in a tone that was actually civil. “I have matters to attend to tomorrow.”

 

“Not all day,” Mrs. Weasley protested. “And it’s not pity, it’s …” Harry looked up as Molly waved her fork in a circle, seemingly searching for the right word, “… it’s hospitality and friendship.”

 

Snape’s expression made it clear he didn’t believe it was anything of the sort, but he gave a small sigh and said, “If I have time in between my … obligations … I will look in on you.”

 

Mrs. Weasley nodded once and turned her attention to Charlie, clucking at him about the new scar on his left hand. Harry watched Snape roll his eyes as soon as Mrs. Weasley looked away. He was sure that Snape had only agreed to come to Gryffindor Tower so the motherly woman would stop insisting; he certainly did not expect to see Snape in their common room the next day.

 

**********************************

 

“Wake up Fred!” Ron yelled in his brother’s face, while Harry shook George’s shoulder. The twins, who had indulged heavily in the wine the night before, gave identical groans and pulled the covers over their heads.

 

“Having trouble?” Bill asked Ron and Harry, walking out of the bathroom fully dressed. He gestured to Charlie, who was pulling on his boots, and walked over to Fred’s bed, brandishing his wand. Charlie hurried over to George’s bed, pulling out his own wand. “On three,” Bill murmured. “One – two – three!”

 

Bill and Charlie flicked their wands, and the blankets disappeared from the beds. Fred scrambled blindly for the covers while George just moaned and covered his head with his arms.

 

“Come on, you two!” said Charlie. “I want to open presents.” Fred told Charlie to do something that Harry was fairly sure was impossible, and Harry was amused at Charlie’s indignant expression.

 

“I can’t wait until I’m old enough to drink too much wine,” Ron said in a falsely cheerful voice. “It looks like so much fun.” He ducked effortlessly as George threw a pillow at him.

 

Harry and the five Weasleys finally made it down to the common room. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were sitting on a sofa by the fireplace, watching in awe as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley levitated brightly-coloured packages into piles. Ginny squealed with delight like a small child when Mr. Weasley guided a heap of packages to the ground between her and Hermione. Harry found the pile of presents marked with his name and sat on the floor next to it, feeling the familiar thrill of anticipation in his stomach as he eyed his stack. However, only part of his excitement was directed toward the presents. Harry caught Ron’s eye and grinned. Then he turned slightly to keep an eye on the twins while trying not to look like he was watching them.

 

Once everyone was seated, Harry picked up the present on the top of his pile, pretending to examine it, but actually watching Fred closely. A shout diverted his attention to George, who was lying halfway on his stomach on the floor, a present just out of his reach. He lunged for the gift and cursed when it scuttled further away from his hand.

 

“George!” exclaimed Molly. “Watch your language!”

 

“This present, Mum – what did you do …” George trailed off as his twin began having problems with one of his own presents. “Something’s up,” he concluded. He glared at the errant box across the floor and grabbed another one, but it flew out of his hands. The next one he tried to touch also scooted across the floor as if repelled.

 

“Who did this?” Fred demanded, looking at the laughing faces around the room.

 

“Clever charm, that,” Ron choked out.

 

“How do you know it’s a charm?” George asked suspiciously.

 

“I just assumed,” Ron said with a shrug, trying and failing miserably to look innocent.

 

“Hmmm…” said Fred, glaring at Ron.

 

He turned his angry face toward Ginny, who was laughing harder than anyone. “Don’t look at me,” she gasped. “I wouldn’t know a charm like that.” She laughed a little more and then struggled to regain her breath. “Funny, though – wish I’d thought of it.”

 

Ginny finally regained her composure and grabbed a present from her pile, and it promptly flew out of her hands and across the room. “Mum!” she screamed as she tried to pick up two more gifts. “What did you do? Take off the charm!”

 

“Not so funny now, is it?” Fred asked bitterly. “Dad! Take off this hex, will you?”

 

“Can’t,” Mr. Weasley said between chuckles. “Don’t know the counter jinx. Good joke, though.”

 

“Arthur!” Mrs. Weasley scolded.

 

“Oi – you two,” said George, pointing to Harry and Ron. “You’re not having any trouble unwrapping presents. You did it. Take it off!”

 

Harry shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “Bill and Charlie aren’t having any trouble, either – how do you know they didn’t do it?”

 

“I think Hermione did it,” Ginny said, eyeing her friend menacingly. “She’s definitely smart enough to.”

 

“And we’re not?” asked Charlie.

 

“No,” said Ginny without a hint of apology. “Take off the charm, Hermione.”

 

“But that would mean admitting I did it, which I will never do!” said Hermione, obviously struggling to maintain a scandalized expression.

 

In the end, Fred and George opened each other’s presents while Mr. Weasley took pity on Ginny. To the victims’ great relief, the charm was automatically deactivated once the gift was unwrapped.

 

All in all, Harry was very pleased with their retaliation for the Halloween prank. He and Ron had come up with the idea during a late night brainstorming session, and Hermione had researched and cast the charm. Harry had insisted that Ginny be included since he suspected she had been responsible for the design of his costume.

 

While everyone else admired each other’s gifts and compared Weasley jumpers, Harry gazed sadly at the small pile of presents left under the tree. Christmas Eve had been the Full Moon, and Remus was undoubtedly recuperating in his room. Harry silently resolved to go and visit him after the evening meal.

 

Remus’s lonely presents reminded Harry of the gift that had been returned to the Weasleys the previous year. It almost seemed odd that no one had mentioned Percy, but Harry supposed the Weasleys’ wounds were still too raw. He could understand that; he wasn’t sure how he would react if someone mentioned Sirius.

 

After the traditional Christmas Dinner in the Great Hall, complete with wizard’s crackers, they had an all-out snowball war on the front lawn. Hermione refused to participate at first, but Ron pummelled her with snow until she was angry enough to retaliate. Hermione had the last laugh, however, when Ginny showed her how to charm snowballs so that they followed the intended target like Nifflers after gold.

 

When everyone, including the spectators, was completely soaked and shivering, they staggered up the stairs to the seventh floor, drying their clothes with charms as they climbed. No one had the energy to do anything besides flop in front of the fire in the common room and munch on the sandwiches and biscuits that had appeared in their absence.

 

Once Harry had eaten his fill and recovered a bit of vigour, he stole away from the group and snuck upstairs to get Remus’s present. He thought no one noticed him slipping through the portrait hole, but before he reached the bottom of the first flight of stairs, someone called out to him.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Harry froze and turned to face Mrs. Weasley. He sighed; he was tired of people trying to protect him.

 

“To visit Remus,” he said, holding up the present as evidence.

 

Mrs. Weasley visibly relaxed and said, “Of course. But let me walk you there – I don’t feel comfortable with you walking around the castle alone at night when it’s so empty.”

 

Harry shrugged and waited for her to catch up to him. As they continued on together, Mrs. Weasley talked so quietly Harry had to strain to hear. “Your safety is the most important thing in this war, Harry. Please don’t forget that – especially now that we know…” She trailed off, gesturing with her hand.

 

“I don’t think I’m in any danger from the spy,” Harry whispered, struggling not to feel annoyed. “I got the impression that Voldemort wants to kill me himself. The spy seems to be trying to take down the wards, so I doubt he would risk revealing himself by hurting me.” At least that’s what he had told himself countless times since the Order meeting.

 

Mrs. Weasley stopped suddenly and whirled to face him, startling him into stopping. “You can’t have that attitude! You’re not invincible, Harry!”

 

Harry glared at Mrs. Weasley for a moment and then continued quickly on his way, afraid he would say something he would regret. He had been having such a pleasant Christmas; he had almost been able to forget that he wasn’t a normal teenager and he resented the reminder. Harry heard her calling his name behind him; he stopped and turned reluctantly to face her.

 

Her expression was almost frightening; he had never seen her so livid. “Now you listen to me!” she said in a quiet but intense voice, puffing a bit from hurrying to catch up. “You will keep yourself safe, and you will let us help you! I’m not going to lose another son to that bastard!”

 

Harry’s anger disappeared as a memory of Mrs. Weasley weeping beside his dead body at Grimmauld Place flashed through his mind. “Sorry,” he mumbled, looking at the ground and feeling a little ashamed of himself. “It’s just … I just … I just w-want to be n-normal,” he sputtered lamely.

 

He chanced a look at Mrs. Weasley and his breath caught when he saw the tears streaming down her face. “Oh, Harry,” she said as if her heart was breaking, and she pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. “You’re right, it’s so unfair,” she murmured near his ear as she held him.

 

Harry sighed, realizing that she understood as much as anyone else possibly could. He wanted nothing more than to pour his anger, frustration, and fear onto this woman’s shoulder, but he just couldn’t show weakness, not even to her. So he settled for relaxing into the motherly comfort her embrace conveyed and emptying his mind to control his emotions.

 

She finally released him. “You’ll be okay, Harry,” she whispered as she wiped her face. “We all will.” It was inadequate reassurance, but Harry nodded and swallowed. Mrs. Weasley blew her nose loudly into her handkerchief, pocketed it, and gestured with her hand, saying, “Let’s go see how Remus is doing.”

 

As they walked, Mrs. Weasley asked him questions about his classes and marks as if they were the biggest concerns in his life. He relaxed into the conversation, and was actually beginning to enjoy it until she asked, “Is there a special girl in your life?”

 

Harry tried unsuccessfully to will the blush away. Mrs. Weasley took pity on him and said, “Okay – not the best question from a grown-up. But let me ask you this: what do you think of Ron and Hermione dating? I know they’re your best friends – I thought it might be a little … awkward for you.”

 

“No – I think it’s great,” Harry said sincerely. “It’s actually a relief that Ron finally told her how he felt.” Mrs. Weasley gave him a calculating look. Harry connected the question about Ron and Hermione with the question about his own love life and realized she was concerned that he might feel left out. “It’s not been awkward – I think they’ll always be my best friends. They don’t ever make me feel left out or anything. Of course, they have plenty of time to be alone when I’m in extra lessons and stuff.” He smirked at Mrs. Weasley, and then remembered he was talking to Ron’s mother. “W-well … I-I mean … I’m sure they don’t really do … anything … where they need to … be alone…” Mrs. Weasley raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything, much to Harry’s relief.

 

They reached Remus’s door, and Mrs. Weasley knocked. “Just a minute, Molly,” came a faint voice from inside. Harry heard slow, uneven footfalls, as if Remus were limping across the room. His tired face broke into a huge grin when he opened the door. “Harry! I didn’t know you were here! The charm only reveals the person knocking.”

 

“How are you, Remus?” Mrs. Weasley asked in a concerned voice.

 

“Not bad,” Remus answered. “Severus has been experimenting with the Wolfsbane Potion, and this is the easiest transformation I’ve had in a long while. In fact,” he said, gesturing for them to enter, “I was just thinking of going to see you, Harry. I’ve got a gift for you.”

 

“Me too,” said Harry, showing Remus the present he was carrying.

 

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone, then,” Molly said, looking between them with a pleased grin. “Remus, do you want me to bring you a sandwich later?”

 

Molly finally left after assurances that the house-elves had taken good care of Remus at dinnertime and that he would feel up to walking Harry back to Gryffindor Tower. Remus turned away from the door and said, “I’m glad you came. I really wanted to give you your present privately.”

 

“Here, open mine first,” said Harry, trying not to betray nervousness in his voice.

 

Remus took the gift and carefully pulled the paper off. “Oh, Harry,” he gasped as a small, framed portrait of James, Lily, Sirius and Remus was revealed.

 

“I-it’s from a wedding picture,” Harry explained. “But the artist said it wouldn’t move or speak since he painted it from a photograph and not the real people.”

 

“I love it!” Remus exclaimed. He put the painting down carefully and put his arms around Harry, who stiffened automatically since Remus had never hugged him before. Just as Harry was beginning to relax into the fatherly embrace, Remus released him and said, “Thank you, Harry!”

 

Remus suddenly seemed to have more energy; he waved his wand at the painting and it flew to the wall. He regarded it with a calculating expression, shook his head, and levitated it to the opposite wall. Then he cocked his head to one side, adjusted the angle slightly, and murmured, “Perfect,” as he turned to beam at Harry. “It’s perfect,” he repeated.

 

“I’m glad you like it,” Harry said, smiling back.

 

“I do.” His expression became a little nervous, and he said, “Let me get mine,” as he turned to the bookcase. He pulled out a neatly wrapped package Harry was sure was a book. Harry tried to open the package as carefully as Remus had obviously wrapped it, but he couldn’t help a few small rips. He gradually revealed a plain, leather-bound book with the letters R J L emblazoned in gold on the spine. After shooting Remus a questioning glance, he opened the book and read:

 

“1 September 1971 - Well, I’ve done it! I’m actually on the Hogwarts Express headed to Hogwarts! I still can’t believe I get to go! I couldn’t wait to put on my school robes, and I can’t wait to get there! Mum packed me a sandwich, but I don’t feel like eating…”

 

Harry continued to read about the writer’s hopes of having friends, his dreams of being a full-fledged wizard, and his fears that his secret would be discovered. He gave a little chuckle when he read that Remus had expected to be sorted into Hufflepuff.

 

A quiet cough jerked him back to the present, and he looked at Remus with wonder. “Your journal?” he asked incredulously.

 

“A copy,” said Remus, trepidation still evident in his eyes. “My years at Hogwarts. Complete, except for … well … I edited out … er … some of the more … er … private stuff. But nothing about your father – everything concerning James is there.” Harry stared at him in disbelief; he couldn’t believe his guardian would trust him with something so personal.

 

“It’s been bothering me that you got such a bad impression of your father last year,” Remus continued. “I wanted you to get the full picture of the sort of person he was. He certainly wasn’t perfect – in fact, he could be quite a tosser sometimes. But he was everything you’d want in a friend – fiercely loyal – helpful – he’d do anything for me …” His voice grew hoarse on the last few words and he cleared his throat. “Anyway, I just wanted you to read this – I thought you might like learning more about your father – and Sirius.”

 

“I-I d-don’t know what to say, Remus,” Harry stammered. “Y-you – you’d really let me read this?”

 

Remus smiled, the anxiety fading from his face. “I want you to.”

 

“T-thank you,” Harry whispered, deeply touched.

 

Remus nodded and started looking uneasy again. “There’s something else I want to show you.” He looked as if he was going to say something else, but changed his mind and turned abruptly to pull something out of a cupboard. “It also bothered me that you thought your mother hated your father,” Remus said as he carefully placed Dumbledore’s Pensieve upon a small table. “Your parents adored each other, Harry. Granted, Lily was less than impressed with your dad at first. James was a right prat around girls when he was younger, and most of them adored him, but Lily just thought he was obnoxious. Actually, that’s probably why James was attracted to her. In seventh year James calmed down a bit, and Lily finally gave him a chance. She loved him once she got to know him, Harry. Don’t ever doubt that.”

 

Harry thought about that. It reminded him a little of how he and Ron had disliked Hermione until they had seen another side of her on that fateful Halloween night. He nodded at Remus without speaking.

 

“I’d like to share one of my favourite memories with you, Harry. Is that okay?” He indicated the Pensieve.

 

“What is it?” said Harry, curious.

 

“Your first Christmas,” Remus answered with a nervous grin. “Sirius and I spent the day at your parents’ house.”

 

Harry started feeling anxious himself; he wasn’t sure he wanted to see his parents again since the first time had been so unpleasant. But Remus seemed to think this would be a more positive experience, and it was obviously important to him.

 

“You don’t have to – it’s okay,” Remus said, and Harry thought he was trying not to look disappointed.

 

“No – I want to,” Harry said quickly. “Let’s do it.” He stepped toward the Pensieve to show he was willing. Remus flashed him a brilliant smile and grasped his arm, and as one they leaned over it.

 

Harry and Remus stood on a front porch behind a much younger Remus and Sirius. It was odd to see two Remus’s, but not as odd as seeing himself in his previous Pensieve experience. Sirius muttered something under his breath and barely waited for the door to open before bounding into the house. Young Remus followed more slowly behind him, with Harry and his guardian slipping in quickly before the door snapped shut.

 

Harry looked in amazement at the scene before him. A man who was unmistakably his father was sitting on the sofa, engrossed in Muggle television. An infant with messy black hair was lying on a blanket on the floor in front of him, flailing his arms and legs enthusiastically and cooing happily at a mirror sitting in front of his face.

 

“What’s my godson doing on the floor?” Sirius bellowed, slapping James on the back of the head. “It’s a crime he’s not being held!”

 

“He’s happy – leave him alone,” James said without taking his eyes off the television. Sirius picked up the infant, who protested briefly at being deprived of his entertainment.

 

“Come on,” Sirius said in a sing-song voice, tickling the baby under his chin. “Uncle Sirius is much more interesting than your own face, surely!”

 

The first thing Harry noticed about the baby was the absence of the scar; it was a bit of a jolt to be reminded that he hadn’t always had it. Once he was able to drag his eyes away from his baby self, Harry gazed with wonder at the love in his godfather’s eyes. Then James distracted him by standing up, turning off the television, and yelling, “Lily, the hooligans are here!”

 

“Well, throw them out!” she commanded as she emerged from a doorway that Harry presumed led to the kitchen. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his mother’s mischievous smile. Lily Potter was dressed in a festive red and green jumper and black slacks that billowed at the ankles when she walked. Her long auburn hair was caught at the nape of her neck with a simple silver clip. She walked over to Sirius and chided him good naturedly for spoiling the baby. As Harry watched her gaze at his baby self, he thought that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

 

James walked over to Lily and put an arm around her shoulders. She looked up at him, said, “Dinner’s almost ready,” and kissed him on the lips. Harry marvelled as his parents gazed into each other’s eyes, their love for each other obvious in their expressions.

 

Harry swiped at a couple of tears that escaped his eyes and immediately felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. He looked at Remus and was a little surprised at the tears flowing freely down his face. He had never seen his guardian break down, not even at Sirius’s memorial service. In an effort to keep his composure, Harry shifted his attention to his surroundings.

 

It was interesting to see the house he had once lived in. It seemed spacious, but not pretentious. The room was decorated in subtle earth tones with red accents. Harry’s eyes were drawn to the huge Christmas tree in the corner surrounded by brightly coloured packages. It looked as if the ceiling had been magically raised to accommodate it.

 

The evidence of magic combined with the Muggle technology was intriguing. There was a television, but Harry could see no electrical outlets. He supposed it was run by magic. In the corner beside the console was a large box full of toys, presumably his. The mantle over the fireplace was crowded with pictures, mostly of his baby self, but there were a few others.

 

Harry pointed to a photograph of an older couple and asked, “Are these my grandparents?”

 

Remus walked over to join him near the fireplace and sighed. “Yes, that’s James’s parents.” His tears had dried, but he looked close to weeping again when he said, “They were killed about a year before you were born. Diagon Alley – Death Eater attack. James was always adamant about fighting Voldemort, but after that he was obsessed.” Remus shifted his gaze to the photograph, his eyes becoming a little happier. Harry waited for him to go on, eager to hear more about his family. “James and Lily weren’t expecting to become such young parents, but it was really good for them. James’s obsession calmed considerably when he found out Lily was pregnant, and your birth helped him come to terms with his parents’ death.”

 

“How can you say it was good for them?” Harry asked before he could stop himself. “I got them killed!”

 

Remus gazed at him for a moment with many emotions swirling in his eyes. “Look at them, Harry. They’re so happy. Most people would give anything to have that level of happiness in their lives, even briefly. I know that if they could speak to us, they would say it was worth it. Especially if they could see the young man you’ve grown into.”

 

Harry managed to nod, mainly to satisfy Remus since he wasn’t sure he would ever believe that. He took a few deep breaths to gain control of his emotions, gazed at his parents for moment, and finally said, “I think I’m ready to go now.” He was grateful that his guardian seemed to understand what he was feeling. Remus grabbed his elbow and gave Sirius one last look as they were propelled upward.

 

“Thanks, Remus,” Harry said, looking intently at the floor. “I-I think … I-I m-might like to … see more … sometime …”

 

“Any time you want,” said Remus. He glanced at a clock on his desk and said, “It’s getting late – I’d better get you back to Gryffindor Tower.”

 

“It’s okay – I can go up on my own,” Harry protested.

 

“I’d better walk you – I’m too afraid of Molly,” Remus said with a grin. “Besides, I’d like to see the others anyway.” He grabbed a small pile of presents from a shelf and said, “Let’s go.”

 

Harry took the presents from Remus so it would be easier for Remus to manage with his cane. “Are you sure you can make it up these stairs?” Harry asked as they approached the long climb.

 

“The healing potion Severus gave me is accelerating my recovery. I’ll be fine.”

 

The Weasleys all seemed very pleased to see Remus when they arrived in the common room, and he was quickly introduced to the Grangers. As he was handing out presents, the ground shook slightly and soot poured out of the fireplace onto the carpet.

 

“What was that?” Harry asked as everyone around him regained their balance and expressed similar confusion.

 

“Look!” screamed Ginny, pointing to the window. They all rushed to the window and much jostling ensued as everyone tried to get a look at the three large, flickering lights in Hogsmeade.

 

“Fires. Death Eater attack,” said Mr. Weasley. “I’d better go see what’s going on.” He hurried to the portrait hole, but stepped back in surprise as it opened before he could touch it. Snape climbed through and swept the room with his black, glittering eyes.

 

“The Headmaster would like to see you, Arthur, Molly,” he wrinkled his nose as if hating what he had to say next, “and your sons who are of age.” His gaze fell on Remus. “Lupin, you’d better come too, if you feel up to it.”

 

“I’m fine,” Remus said defiantly.

 

“Mr. and Mrs. Granger, would you please ensure that the children stay in the tower?” Snape asked, looking at them rather disdainfully. The Grangers both nodded, apparently frightened.

 

“What happened?” asked Hermione, shooting worried glances at her parents.

 

“That will be for the adults to determine, Miss Granger,” Snape said with a quelling look.

 

Mr. Granger stepped forward. “Mr…”

 

“Professor Snape,” Snape provided.

 

“Professor Snape,” Mr. Granger began again, “my wife and I have had some medical training. We can’t perform magic, but we might be able to help if there have been injuries.”

 

Snape’s expression grew even more disdainful, but he shrugged and said, “Do as you wish.” He looked meaningfully at the students. “If any of you leave this tower, I guarantee the Gryffindor hourglass will be immediately emptied.”

 

Harry stepped forward. “I’m going.”

 

“Fifty points fr…”

 

“Shut up, Severus,” Remus interrupted. He gave Harry a long look and finally said, “You need to stay here for now – I’ll fill you in later.”

 

Just as Harry opened his mouth to protest, the portrait hole opened again, this time admitting Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore. “What happened?” Remus and Mrs. Weasley asked at the same time.

 

Dumbledore looked so old and tired that Harry marvelled that he had made it all the way up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. “It appears the Death Eaters have managed to shut down the floo system throughout most of Britain. Communication and travel are not possible through the network. My early intelligence indicates that everyone in transit at the time of the attack was killed.”


	14. Anger and Distraction

Thanks so much to Swishandflick, who made a special effort to beta read this before leaving on his trip. Thanks also to Ginnysdarkside and Gianfared for beta reading – they had some especially good criticisms this time.

HUGE glomps to Lady Jayne Paisley, who did a great layout for Remus’s journal. Check it out: http://www.livejournal.com/users/rjljournal/ LJP also gave this chapter a once over right before posting. She rocks!

I must post a public apology to my friend Annibug, and anyone else who loves Oliver Wood. If you’re an Oliver fan, check out Annibug’s Tactical Play, in which he is very much alive. Link: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/sillyscrolls/

********************************************

"If I could change, I would

Take back the pain, I would

Retrace every wrong move that I made, I would

If I could stand up and take the blame, I would

If I could take all the shame to the grave, I would"

Linkin Park, "Easier To Run"

*********************************************

As second term began, it seemed as if Hogwarts was covered with a dark shroud of mourning. Almost every student had a relative or friend who had been killed or seriously wounded in the attack on the floo system. Miraculously, only one student was dead, a fourth year Hufflepuff. Harry hadn’t known her, but he still added her name to the growing list of those who wouldn’t have died if he had already fulfilled his destiny.

The list of those presumed dead was growing longer every day, though more slowly than in the first days following the attack. Just that morning they had heard about Oliver Wood. His parents had waited almost two weeks before adding his name to the list, hoping he had stopped off someplace without telling them. But when he didn’t show up for practice with Puddlemere United, they were forced to acknowledge that he probably hadn’t survived.

Harry knew that he should feel grateful that all those he loved had been safe in the castle during the attack, but how long would they remain safe? How long before it was Remus, Ron, Hermione, or another Weasley?

He had tried taking out his frustrations during his training session with Professor Shacklebolt, but the strong emotions had made him clumsy. Shacklebolt had recognized his mood and tried to calm him, telling him that anger would only make it easier for his opponent to win, but Harry had still ended up hitting the floor painfully more times than he could count. Oddly, this had made him feel a little better, as if he was getting a small amount of the punishment he deserved.

As he walked back to Gryffindor Tower, the faces floated through his mind. Sirius. Percy. Cho. Cedric. Michael. Oliver. Colin. Then the names of those he hadn’t known rolled through his thoughts, shining like blood red ink engraved on stark white parchment. He stopped walking and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his mind. He could feel the anger buzzing through his veins and churning in his stomach, forcing to him to remember. The anger was slowly becoming his life-force, the only thing that mattered to him.

He sighed, and when he opened his eyes, was surprised to see a real, very alive, face in front of him. "Are you okay, Harry?" asked Luna.

Harry stared at Luna for a moment and was suddenly taken back to the night of the Christmas Celebration, a time before the anger had started to overwhelm him. As he took a step toward Luna, his mind was entirely focused on how nice it would be to have a pleasant emotion again.

She seemed a little surprised when he kissed her, but didn’t resist at all, so he did it again. It was working. A little voice in his head that said the reprieve wouldn’t last, that it was only temporary, but he ignored it and let himself drown in the sensations of the kiss.

When he finally pulled back, she gave him a knowing look and said, "The vulmaks are affecting you too, I see."

The pleasantness that had replaced the anger in his veins bubbled up in his throat and came out as a laugh, surprising him. "Hi," he said stupidly, realizing he hadn’t spoken to her since term had begun. "Did you have a good Christmas?"

"Yes," she said with a genuine smile. "It would have been better if I had gotten what I wanted, but Dad said there just aren’t any eggs this time of year."

Harry decided it was probably wise not to ask what she meant by that and kissed her again instead. She responded by deepening the kiss, making him want more, but also causing an alarm to go off in his brain. They were in the middle of the hallway, where anyone could see them, and Harry didn’t fancy the thought of having points taken from Gryffindor for snogging, or even worse, his classmates teasing him. He pulled back and nervously ran his fingers through his hair.

"Luna?" She simply looked at him expectantly, so he took a deep breath and continued. "W-would y-you like to … go for a walk … tomorrow night after DA?"

"A walk?" she said, looking a little disappointed. "No, not really. It’s too … wait," she said just as the pleasant feelings started to drain from him, "did you mean you want to find someplace private to snog?"

Harry felt his cheeks grow hot, but he realized he was going to have to get used to her saying exactly what she was thinking. "Yes," he croaked.

"Well, I would like to do that," she said matter-of-factly. "I need to study right now, but tomorrow should fit into my schedule." She leaned forward, gave Harry a chaste peck on the lips, and walked away, heading toward Ravenclaw Tower. As Harry watched her go, a silly grin spread across his face that lasted all the way to his own common room.

*****************************************

Harry’s emotions were rather like a Muggle yo-yo during the following days. It was difficult to keep his mind from wandering to topics which made his blood boil with anger. It seemed as though everyone who had lost a family member was giving him accusing glares, though in his more rational moments he told himself it was only paranoia.

He tried to keep his mind occupied with other things, but it seemed everything reminded him of the war. He was training in Occlumency and defence so he could defeat Voldemort. The purpose of the Defence Association was to train the other students to protect themselves from attack. When he looked around in his classes, he saw Parvati and Padma, who had lost an aunt in the floo attack, or Zacharias Smith, who had lost a brother. There was no escaping the reminders. The only things that served to sufficiently distract him were his Firebolt and Luna; therefore, he spent as much time as possible with both.

On one Monday evening, Harry found himself angry and frustrated for an entirely different reason. An impossible Potions essay was due right after breakfast the next day and Hermione was in the weekly prefect meeting. A small part of his mind whispered he should be grateful that the composition had so successfully distracted him from brooding over the war, but it was very little comfort. He finally gave up his feeble attempts at the homework and headed to the library in hopes that he could find one of the Ravenclaws in his class to help him.

He scanned the tables as he entered the library, and his eyes fell on Malfoy, sitting alone near the back. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask the Slytherin, but he knew Malfoy did well in Potions, so he braced himself and walked over to the table.

"Can you help me, Malfoy?" he asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice.

The Slytherin regarded him with an unreadable expression for a moment before speaking in a voice only Harry could hear. "It appears I have little choice. I owe you."

"No, you don’t," said Harry, rolling his eyes and sitting across from Malfoy. "It’s just that you seem to do okay in Potions, and I’m having trouble with this essay."

"Doesn’t the Mu- Granger usually help you?"

"Yes," Harry answered, torn between being annoyed that Malfoy had started to insult his friend and pleased that he had corrected himself. "But she’s in a prefect meeting."

"They only last an hour," Malfoy said.

"Yeah," said Harry, unable to contain the smirk that curled his mouth, "but the Gryffindor sixth year prefects usually meet privately afterwards."

Malfoy’s nose immediately wrinkled in disgust. "That’s a mental image I could have done without, Potter."

"It’s only fair," Harry said, a small laugh escaping him. "I shouldn’t have to suffer with it alone."

Malfoy stared at him in obvious surprise for a moment and then gave a little chuckle. "All right," he said, still smiling. "Let me see what you’ve got so far. But I’m not writing it for you."

"I don’t expect you to," said Harry, pulling the essay out of his bag. "Just point me in the right direction."

The Slytherin read the parchment slowly, muttering about Harry’s poor handwriting the entire time. "How did you manage an "E" on the O.W.L.s?" he finally asked, looking at Harry in wonder. Harry fought the urge to get angry; he was beginning to realize that insults were just Malfoy’s natural way of dealing with people.

"I think it was luck," Harry said, deciding there was no reason not to be honest. "There were a lot of questions on the written exam that I happened to remember," he smiled a little, remembering the question about the effects of Polyjuice Potion, "and I did much better on the practical exam without Snape breathing down my neck."

Malfoy gazed at him with a puzzled expression for a moment and then gave a short laugh. "You had me going there for a moment. But I wish you’d tell me the truth – it could come in handy when we take our N.E.W.T.s next year."

"I am telling the truth, you pillock," Harry said, no longer able to control his anger. He grabbed the essay out of Malfoy’s hands and stood to leave, but the Slytherin’s voice stopped him.

"It won’t matter what you made on your O.W.L.s if you fail this term, Potter. Sit down." Harry struggled silently for a moment, and then sank back into the chair as he realized a decent mark in Potions was worth a few insults from Malfoy. The Slytherin snatched the essay and appeared to be reading it again as he said, "Potions is all about finding the balance between precision and subtlety – and you don’t have either. Actually, I’m amazed that any Gryffindor can make it in Potions."

Harry forced himself to relax, ignoring the insults while trying to understand what Malfoy was telling him. He would never admit it aloud, but he knew precision and subtlety were not exactly his strong points. He struggled to wrap his mind around the concepts as Malfoy described the theory behind the potion to him, hoping for a sudden comprehension that never came. Nonetheless, the Slytherin proved to be a surprisingly good tutor, if not a patient one, and in the end Harry’s essay exceeded the required length by one inch.

"Thank you," he said sincerely as he stuffed the parchment in his bag.

"I hope you appreciate it," Malfoy answered with a frown. "Now, if you don’t mind, I’m behind in my own revising."

Harry took that as a dismissal and murmured, "See you around," awkwardly as he stood to leave. He felt emotionally drained from the stress of suppressing his annoyance, but somewhat lighter as if a burden had been removed.

*****************************************

The next morning, Harry ran breathlessly into Potions with only a minute to spare. Meeting Luna to snog before morning classes had been fun, but probably not the best idea, since it had been difficult to leave her. He hurried toward the table he shared with Seamus, but stopped short when he realized his usual seat was occupied by Lisa Turpin, whom Seamus had been seeing since the Christmas Celebration. Seamus gave him an apologetic look and inclined his head toward a nearby table where Su Li, Lisa’s former Potions partner, was sitting alone. Harry ignored his suggestion, however, took a deep breath, and walked straight to the table in the back where Malfoy sat.

The Slytherin’s eyes widened in surprise as Harry sat next to him and unpacked his cauldron. Harry almost thought that Malfoy seemed pleased for a moment, but then decided he was wrong as Malfoy’s familiar cold expression fell back across his features. The Slytherin opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, Snape swept into the room and began lecturing.

After several minutes had passed, Malfoy tilted his parchment so that Harry could read it. He had assumed the Slytherin had been taking notes, but instead he had written, "If you cause my marks to go down, I’ll make sure you’re not able to play Quidditch for a LONG time." Underneath the words was a small doodle of Harry in intense pain. The drawing was quite amusing, and Harry couldn’t help but smile. Malfoy scowled at him, jerked the parchment back, and refused to acknowledge his presence for the remainder of the lecture.

Snape finally finished giving instructions and commanded them to begin the potion. Malfoy actually proved to be complementary partner for Harry. He took control of the assignment, ordering Harry to complete the easier and more menial steps, which, Harry had to admit, was the most efficient way for them to work together since Malfoy was much more skilled at potion making.

Malfoy looked at their creation with unmistakable pleasure as he corked the flask at the end of the double period. "Take this to Snape while I clean up," he directed, handing the flask to Harry. They had been the first pair to finish, so there was no one else at Snape’s desk when Harry delivered the flask.

"Do not expect me to mark you higher just because you’re partnering with a Slytherin," Snape said with a sneer. Harry struggled not to roll his eyes as he turned to go back to his table, but stopped as Snape said his name so quietly he almost didn’t hear him. He turned back and looked into the Potions Master’s unreadable black eyes. "Remember what his family is," Snape whispered without moving his lips. "Don’t trust him."

"I don’t," Harry whispered before heading back to his table. He passed Ron and Hermione on the way, and his heart sank at the expression of anger and disgust in Ron’s eyes. Hermione didn’t look angry, but rather like she pitied him.

The work area was spotless when Harry returned. Malfoy gave Harry a perfunctory nod and stalked out of the classroom. Harry lingered uncomfortably at the table, pretending to read his text, until Ron and Hermione finished their potion.

"I can’t believe you partnered with Malfoy!" Ron exclaimed as they left the classroom together.

"Why didn’t you sit with Su Li?" Hermione asked with the exasperated air of a mother chastising a child.

"I don’t really know her," Harry said, feeling somehow that it wouldn’t suffice as a reason.

"Anyone would be better …" Ron began.

"Look," Harry interrupted, "he helped me with my essay last night. He’s really good in potions. I thought partnering him might help me get my marks up."

"But he’ll do anything to make sure your marks go down," Ron protested.

"Nah," Harry argued, "he won’t do anything that would hurt himself."

Ron started to speak again, but Hermione glared at him and spoke before he could. "What was he like today?" she asked in a curious tone.

"He treated me like a house-elf, but it’s probably worth it to finally get a good mark. I think our potion turned out exactly right." Hermione turned her glare on him at the casual mention of house-elves, but let the comment go.

Ron still looked angry as they sat down to eat lunch, but Hermione seemed satisfied with his explanation and started talking about their Herbology assignment. Harry caught Ron’s eye and gave him what he hoped was a penitent look. Ron’s expression softened somewhat, much to Harry’s relief.

Harry dropped his fork with a clang when a hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling him around. "Is it true, Harry?" asked Ginny. "Did you partner Malfoy in Potions?"

"Yeah," said Harry, "but how did you …"

"It’s the main topic of conversation over at the Hufflepuff table. I was over there talking to Matthew when I heard."

Ginny’s hand lingered on his shoulder, causing an odd tingling sensation, but he shrugged it off with a sigh. "What are they saying about me this time?" he asked in a resigned tone, remembering the Hufflepuffs speculating about him being the Heir of Slytherin in his second year.

"Some think you’re trying to win Malfoy over to our side, and others think he’s teaching you to be a Death Eater." Harry heard Ron give a snort and looked around. Although Ginny was speaking quietly, they had attracted the attention of several at the Gryffindor table, all of whom looked as if they were desperate to hear Harry’s explanation. Harry must have looked annoyed, because Ginny held up her hands and said, "I didn’t say I believed it – I just thought you should know what was being said, Harry."

Harry forced his face into an apologetic expression; he didn’t want Ginny to think he was angry with her. "It’s nothing like that," he explained. "I just wanted some help in Potions. He’s actually not so bad – he’s willing to help me."

"But why?" Ginny asked, giving him a searching look. "After all this time, why would he help you?"

Harry suddenly felt a mad desire to tell Ginny the whole truth, but he tried to swallow it and settled on a partial truth. "I think he feels indebted to me because I accepted him into the DA. He hates to feel indebted to anyone, especially me."

"Maybe …" Ginny said with a shrug; Harry could tell she was unsure, but wanted to trust his judgement. "I’ll just tell the Hufflepuffs he hasn’t turned you into a Death Eater yet, okay?"

"Thanks, Ginny," said Harry, giving her a sarcastic smile. He stared after her as she walked back to the Hufflepuff table and placed her hand on Matthew’s shoulder. Harry’s shoulder tingled as he watched, as if it remembered how her hand had felt. After a moment, he tore his eyes away and saw that Ron was watching him with an odd expression. "What?" he demanded. Ron just shrugged and dug enthusiastically into his mashed potatoes. Harry sighed, picked up his fork, and pretended to eat.

*****************************************

"You are progressing," Snape said with a sneer, and Harry realized that was probably the closest thing to praise he would ever hear from the Potions Master. "It is time to increase the challenge. Legilimens!" Harry emptied his mind and relaxed, letting Snape see nothing, and feeling confident in his ability to resist him.

"You know, your father was over-confident, too," said a sly voice inside his head, confusing him slightly. "He strutted around this school, huge head barely balancing on his shoulders, hexing anyone who got in his way." A vision of his father mussing his hair sprang to his mind and his breathing became heavy as he tried to force it away. The voice relentlessly continued, telling him how despicable James Potter had been in school, and the rage that still flared so easily boiled in his stomach and forced itself up into his chest.

"STOP IT!" Harry shouted. His wand had somehow made its way into his hand and he brandished it violently at the Potions Master. "Stop insulting my father! I know the truth! You were jealous of him! You …"

"Twenty points from Gryffindor!" Snape said in an oily voice, watching Harry intently. Harry took a deep breath and swallowed his next words, pushing the anger down and forcing himself to calm.

"How am I supposed to concentrate on resisting you when you’re insulting my father?" Harry asked, trying to sound respectful but unable to keep all of the anger out of his tone.

Snape’s expression turned nasty. "Do you expect the Dark Lord to just sit idly by and sip tea while he’s trying to invade your mind? You can resist my invasion in a controlled situation, but you must learn to simultaneously resist distraction. Legilimens!" The assault began again without warning, and Harry found himself fighting anger as well as the attempted foray into his mind.

After an hour, the Potions Master finally released Harry and the Gryffindor headed straight out of the castle, not bothering with pretending to come down from his common room. He breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest. "Am I glad to see you!" he said as he wrapped his arms around Luna.

***********************************************

Harry slipped into the dormitory stealthily, but Ron was still awake. "Who is it, mate?" he asked as Harry tried to sneak past his bed.

"What are you talking about?" Harry whispered. He ran his fingers nervously through his hair and sat on the edge of Ron’s bed.

"The girl you’ve been meeting. It’s Luna, isn’t it? That’s why you haven’t told me."

Harry sighed. He should have known Ron would figure it out; after five years of friendship, there was little he could hide from him. "Sorry, mate, but you weren’t exactly enthusiastic about me going to the Christmas thing with her."

"It seems to agree with you," Ron said, examining his face closely. "You seem … less angry or something … more relaxed."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "I think I am. When I’m with her, I forget everything except her – does that make sense? And sometimes it seems to help some of my frustration."

Ron suddenly looked a little alarmed, as if an unpleasant thought had occurred to him. "Are you … y-you’re not … you’re not shagging her, are you?"

"No," Harry said, fighting the blush that threatened. "I’ve thought about it, but … no. I’m – I’m not ready for that. And," he paused, not knowing how to put what he was feeling into words, "I don’t think I want it to be her. I-I mean, I l-like her … a lot … but not that much … I guess … I don’t know …" He shrugged and looked at his friend, hoping he understood what he meant.

"You’re not in love with her," Ron said simply.

"I guess not. How would I know?"

Ron looked past Harry and his eyes glazed over in a dreamy expression. "You just know."


	15. Realizations

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Thanks to Ginnysdarkside, Swishandflick, and Gianfar for their wonderful beta reading. Thanks also to Bryonia Alba who gave me an opinion on a bit right before I posted. Thanks to all my Live Journal friends for putting up with my whining about this chapter and the next, which is already written.

Cameo appearance by Paracelsus in this chapter, first name only (thank you for letting me borrow it, Bruce). He asked that I not make him a Slytherin, but I didn’t mention his house, so you can imagine what you want. He deserves special mention because he has left a lengthy review of every chapter of ACOTS so far! In addition, his own work is excellent, and I highly recommend his stories! Link: http://www.thedarkarts.org/authorLinks/Paracelsus/

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"Though one may be overpowered,  
two can defend themselves.  
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken."

Ecclesiastes 4:12

***********************************************

Harry stretched out his arm as far as it would go while maintaining a death grip on his broom with the other hand. He lunged forward, dangerously shifting his centre of gravity, but was rewarded for his effort when his fingers closed firmly around the Snitch. He could feel the wings struggling in his hand as he sped toward the ground, ignoring the mixed sounds from the crowd.

"… and Potter catches the Snitch, but Hufflepuff wins – two hundred to one-ninety!" rang out the clear voice of Daphne Greengrass, magically magnified to be heard over the spectators.

Ron had implemented an intense training program for the Chasers during January, and they had improved, actually managing to score four goals during this game. But they still didn’t trust each other, and the dismal performance of the Beaters combined with Ron’s lack of confidence had allowed the Hufflepuff team to score twenty times. When given the chance, Harry had rushed to catch the Snitch in order to keep the score from getting worse. By his calculations, Gryffindor was still ahead of Hufflepuff in the race for the Quidditch cup, despite the loss. He grinned grimly to himself as he realized he had Malfoy to thank for that; his quick catch of the Snitch in the Slytherin match against Hufflepuff ensured they had only scored ten points.

Ron landed just after Harry did and slapped him on the back. "Well done," he said in a low voice. "Once again, you saved our hides." Harry only shrugged and handed the Snitch over to Madam Hooch, who then verified the score and officially declared Hufflepuff the winners.

The other team members looked disappointed, but expressed their support for Harry’s decision to end the game with nods and slaps on the back. Harry thought it was interesting, though not surprising, that the team was not walking back to the castle together, but separately, as if demonstrating their lack of cohesion.

As he turned to make his way off the pitch, Harry found himself face to face with Ginny, who regarded him with an unreadable expression. He found himself hoping desperately that she wasn’t angry with him. "You did the right thing," she finally said and then surprised him by wrapping her arms around him in a quick hug.

During the brief embrace, Harry looked over Ginny’s shoulder and saw Summerby watching, presumably waiting for Ginny. Harry felt a momentary stab of satisfaction that had nothing to do with Quidditch, and without realizing it, he held Ginny a moment longer than necessary. When she pulled back, he looked at her intently and said, "Thanks, Ginny." An odd expression crossed her face, but she only turned and walked away with her boyfriend.

As Harry left the pitch, a welcome voice called to him from the shadows behind the stands. "I guess you did what you needed to do," Luna said as he took her into his arms.

"Please don’t talk to me about the match," he said almost desperately. Lowering his lips to hers, he proceeded to ensure she was unable to talk for a long while.

************************************************

"Tonight we’re going to start something different," Harry announced to the Defence Association. He turned and nodded at Professor Shacklebolt, who stepped forward and raised his wand.

"Imperio!" the professor shouted, pointing his wand straight at Harry.

Harry felt himself relaxing, as though he would have melted into the floor if an invisible beam from Shacklebolt’s wand hadn’t been holding him up. Vaguely, as if from far away, Harry heard a voice say, "Jump!"

Harry fought the desire to obey and kept his feet planted firmly on the ground. "No!" he said aloud.

"Howl like a wolf!" said the voice in a more commanding tone, and Harry clamped his lips together tightly. Shacklebolt’s tone changed to persuasive, and his voice gently told Harry that he would feel so good if he would only comply. Harry began to feel bewitched by the desire for pleasure, and actually puckered his lips, but he managed to keep himself from making a sound.

"Kiss Ron Weasley," the voice demanded, but Harry’s resolve was strengthening, and this time he managed to push Shacklebolt completely from his mind. He shook his head to clear it and then laughed when he saw the horrified expression on Ron’s face. Hermione, Ginny, and several others were struggling to stop giggling.

"I think we’ve effectively demonstrated that Mr. Potter can resist the Imperious Curse," said Shacklebolt, clearly fighting the urge to laugh. "The ability to fight the Imperious Curse is vital to the success of this war. Voldemort and the Death Eaters take special pleasure in forcing innocent people to do things against their will. I will be training those of you who are willing to resist the Curse."

A murmur of mixed trepidation and excitement went through the students. The false Professor Moody had worked with the older students two years before, but Harry had been the only one to master the defence.

"I’ll work with small groups of three or four, starting with the most experienced," the professor continued. "Let’s see … Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, Mr. Longbottom, and Mr. Acott – do you want to give it a go?" No one protested Shacklebolt’s choice of students; everyone knew that Ron, Hermione, and Neville had more practical experience than any other sixth years, and Bruce Acott was a seventh year who was well-known for his top marks in Defence Against the Dark Arts. The four students stood and joined Professor Shacklebolt in a corner at the front of the room.

Harry turned to the other students and said, "Okay – I want the rest of you to work on a new shield Professor Shacklebolt taught me. Malfoy, get over here and hex me."

Malfoy looked surprised at being addressed by Harry, but he smirked, stood, and said, "I’ll be glad to. Furnunculus!"

Harry was taken by surprise; he had chosen Malfoy because he knew he wouldn’t hesitate to hex him, but he had expected the Slytherin to come to the front of the room before throwing his curse. He just managed to get his shield up in time, and the purple light from Malfoy’s wand bounced harmlessly off of it.

"Cheers," Harry said sarcastically, glaring at the Slytherin.

"You can’t expect an attacker to warn you, can you?" Malfoy said with a nasty grin.

"You would know," Harry retorted, feeling annoyed that the Slytherin had almost humiliated him. "Anyway," he said, addressing the group, "as you heard, the incantation is Deflectere and the wand movement is …" He swept his wand into two arcs, as if he were drawing the letter "S" in the air. "If it works, and the shield is ac– Deflectere! Malfoy! You are such a prat!" The Slytherin had quietly thrown another hex while Harry’s attention was elsewhere, but Harry had seen the movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Surely you can come up with a better insult than that!" Malfoy taunted.

"There are children in the room," Harry rejoined. "Sit down, Malfoy – I’m finished with you."

"You’re welcome," the Slytherin said in a sarcastic tone, but instead of sitting, he walked over to Daphne Greengrass and bent over to whisper to her. Harry ignored him and continued:

"If your incantation works, and your shield is active, you’ll see a small flash of light in front of your eyes. That’s a good thing – to know for sure that the shield worked, but the downside is that it can distract you. It’s one of the strongest shields there is, so it’s probably worth the risk of distraction. Experiment with it and decide for yourselves. Find a partner and give it a go."

Harry watched with satisfaction as Ginny sought out Katie Bell and Andrew Kirke instead of her boyfriend. Jack Sloper was blocking hexes from Stacey Vorlavitz in a far corner. Ron had suggested that the team Chasers and Beaters work together during Defence Association meetings to build trust. Harry sincerely hoped it would work since nothing else had.

************************************************

Harry silently ascended the stairs from the dungeons clutching his invisibility cloak around him. As he reached the Entrance Hall, he saw a flash of red hair headed up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower and a tall boy with brown hair descending the stairs toward the kitchens. An odd whim caused Harry to duck back into the shadows of the dungeon staircase, pull off the invisibility cloak, and run up the stairs after Ginny. She stopped and turned, apparently hearing his footsteps behind her.

She looked around as if to confirm the stairway was empty, but still kept her voice quiet. "Coming up from Occlumency?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed in a whisper.

"How’s it going?" Her voice and facial expression indicated that she really wanted to know, but Harry still hesitated; he hated to talk about it. After a moment she said, "It’s okay – I was just curious. You don’t have to tell me about it."

Harry marvelled that Ginny seemed to know exactly what he was thinking and suddenly had the urge to pour out all his frustration with Snape and Occlumency. He told her how his confidence in the skill had built over the past few months, only to come crashing down when Snape had started insulting him while probing his mind. He repeated some of the insults, and though he never said how much the taunts about his parents hurt him, he saw that she knew from her sympathetic expression. "… but I’m sure Voldemort will insult me when he tries to invade my mind, so I guess I have to put up with it," Harry finished with a shrug.

They had stopped walking when they reached the fifth floor. Ginny took Harry’s hand and pressed it between both of hers, looking up at him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. "This won’t go on forever, Harry," she said quietly. Harry nodded and gazed intently into her eyes, the tingle in the hand she was holding spreading slowly up his arm. He had never thought about it before, but Ginny Weasley was pretty, and he wondered why it had taken him so long to notice. The freckles sprinkled across the creamy skin of her nose and cheekbones made him think of cinnamon on a vanilla biscuit. However, her eyes had a sad, haunted look that was always there, even when she was happy.

He suddenly remembered that plenty of other boys had noticed her beauty, including a certain Hufflepuff Seeker, and he pulled his hand away, murmuring, "I’d better go."

"You’re not coming up to the common room?"

Harry was actually going to meet Luna and knew she was probably already waiting for him, but he suddenly had the urge to continue on with Ginny instead. He realized he didn’t need the outlet for his frustrations that Luna usually provided; his talk with Ginny had actually proved to be more satisfying than a mindless snog.

Ginny was watching him oddly, and when he didn’t answer she said, "You’re going to meet Luna, aren’t you?"

"Yeah," he admitted, surprised to find himself blushing.

"It must be a relief having a girlfriend that you don’t have to hide so much from," she said, and Harry remembered the conversation they’d had about Lavender and Neville months before.

Harry shrugged. "I haven’t told her about Occlumency or my private defence lessons. I guess she must know Voldemort can probe my mind, since she knows about my vision about Sirius last year, but she doesn’t ask about it." Actually, Harry and Luna did very little talking at all, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to confess that.

"Matthew doesn’t ask, either," Ginny said, "about stuff that’s … personal … but he has commented a couple of times that my eyes looked sad. I hope someday I’ll be able to tell him about … Percy and ..."

She broke off, gesturing with her hand, but Harry knew what she meant to say. Ginny was one of the few people who could understand Harry’s problems because she knew what it was like to be touched by the darkness that was Voldemort. However, he felt a chasm separating them which consisted of her boyfriend, his girlfriend, and the fact that he was so close to her family. Somehow he didn’t think the Weasleys would appreciate him thinking of Ginny as anything other than a sister. He looked down at the floor and repeated, "I’d better go."

He suddenly felt arms flung around him and a soft voice whispering, "Someday he’ll be dead. We have to put our hope in that. Someday we’ll have peace." Harry knew she didn’t realize that he was the one who had to fulfil that hope, but he appreciated her attempt to encourage him, and he squeezed her tightly before releasing her. He caught a brief look of confusion in her eyes before she turned and ran up the stairs to the seventh floor.

Harry headed down the fifth floor corridor toward an unused classroom, but a voice from the shadows stopped him before he reached it. "You were talking to Ginny," said Luna.

"Yeah, she’s my friend," Harry said with a shrug, feeling unreasonably defensive.

"You hugged her," Luna said in her dreamy voice, staring at a spot on the wall behind him. "Is this the part where I’m supposed to act jealous?"

"No reason for that – she’s practically my sister," Harry murmured in a bitter tone, leading the way into the classroom. He locked the door behind them and took her into his arms, but as he kissed her, he saw a different face in his mind.

***********************************************************

Harry found himself at loose ends one Tuesday night. Professor Shacklebolt had owled him to say that he didn’t need his "assistant" that evening because he had Auror business. Of course, Harry suspected it must really be Order business, but the professor could hardly say that in an owl. Since Remus wasn’t leading his training session instead, Harry assumed his guardian must also be involved in the "Auror business."

Hermione was now assisting her Arithmancy professor with marking papers on Tuesday evenings, and Ron was taking the opportunity to work on Quidditch strategy without his girlfriend nagging him to do his homework. Harry joined in the planning until Ron called Ginny over to talk about the Chasers. Suddenly feeling the need to escape, Harry murmured something about finishing his Transfiguration essay and headed for the library.

As he stomped angrily down the hall, Harry inwardly called himself all sorts of names. He knew it was stupid, but any time he got near Ginny he felt a sudden urge to flee, which made no sense at all since he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her pretty face was a constant presence in his mind, especially when he was snogging Luna, much to his chagrin. His relationship with Luna was causing frustration these days instead of alleviating his anger.

Harry reached the library, found an empty table, and tried to focus on his essay, but he was unable to think of anything else to write. He heard someone pull out the chair across from him and sit down as he was digging in his bag for his ruler. "Act glad to see me," Malfoy whispered as Harry looked up.

"Why?" Harry asked with narrowed eyes.

Malfoy sighed dramatically. "Well, I guess I’ll have to settle for failing to hex me."

"What are you on about, Malfoy?" Harry asked as he measured his essay.

"There’s no way that’s long enough," Malfoy said pleasantly. "Don’t look, but those girls at the table by the door are watching us."

Harry groaned in frustration as he realized Malfoy was right about his essay. "Girls? Where?" he said stupidly, looking around.

"I told you not to look," the Slytherin hissed. "I’ve had a hard time finding anyone to snog this year since no one in the whole school would speak to me. Being seen with the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ can only improve my chances. A couple of people are actually speaking to me again since I started partnering you in Potions." He said this as if it had been his own brilliant idea to partner Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes and said, "What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you had Quidditch on Tuesdays."

Malfoy’s expression closed and he looked away. "Quidditch practice is a waste of time since no one on the team will talk to me. I skived off early." Harry didn’t know what to say to that, so he turned his attention to his essay, only to be distracted when the Slytherin spoke again. "Now Brown and Patil are looking over here and whispering to each other. Why do birds do that? Like they think we don’t notice."

Harry looked up to see that Malfoy was correct; Lavender and Parvati were trying to pretend they weren’t looking at them. Malfoy turned and stared at them, lip curled into a smirk, for a long moment. The girls finally turned their chairs away from them and leaned their heads toward each other, appearing to whisper furiously.

"So tell me, Potter," the Slytherin said in a conspiratorial voice when he had turned back to face Harry, "Are Lavender’s real?"

"Her what?" Harry asked. Malfoy made arcs over his chest with his hands as explanation. Harry tried to keep the blush away by force of will as he said, "How would I know that?"

"You went out with her, Potter," Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. "Don’t tell me you can’t tell the difference. They don’t feel the same at all."

Harry felt his face redden despite himself, not sure whether he was more appalled that Lavender might have enhanced herself or that Malfoy thought he would be in a position to know. The Slytherin studied him for a moment and realization dawned in his eyes. "Don’t tell me you’re ‘The-Boy-Who-Is-Still-A-Virgin’! That’s rich! When you could have anyone you want!" Malfoy sounded almost bitter, as if Harry was wasting a valuable resource.

"What’s wrong with being a virgin?" Harry asked, wondering how he had gotten into this conversation and desperately wanting out of it. "I-I’m only sixteen. I don’t really want to … get into all that yet." Malfoy looked at him as if he had suddenly grown another nose, shaking his head slightly in obvious disbelief. To change the subject, Harry said, "W-what d-do girls do … to themselves, anyway?"

"It’s actually a fairly simple engorging charm," Draco told him with a smirk, "but it’s only temporary, so they have to do it every day. Sometimes they don’t get them quite right every day." He paused for a snort of laughter. "I know for a fact that Parvati Patil uses the charm, because her sister is smaller than her, and that’s impossible – they’re identical twins."

Harry was stunned to realize Malfoy was right. He was tempted to ask how the Slytherin knew about the charm, and how the … girls felt different, but decided he didn’t really want to know. The conversation naturally caused Harry’s thoughts to drift to Luna, but thinking of her in this context was definitely not a good idea. The library suddenly seemed to be getting smaller and hotter, and Harry felt he had to get out of there. As he shoved his belongings in his book bag, Malfoy asked, "Where are you going?"

"You got what you wanted, didn’t you? Everyone in here saw us together. I’m going flying." He hurried out of the library without a backward glance.

For some reason, he wasn’t surprised at all when he heard his name called from behind. He rolled his eyes and slowed a little to let Malfoy catch up. "What’s your problem?" Malfoy demanded when he reached Harry’s side. "You leave the library like that and everyone’s going to think you hate me!"

"Who says I don’t?" Harry asked in an angry voice, his footfalls accelerating.

"I do," said Malfoy, and Harry didn’t have to look at him to know he had a smug expression on his face. It only made Harry feel more annoyed to realize that the Slytherin was right; he no longer hated him.

Harry rolled his eyes again and said, "So … what? You’re saying we’re friends now?"

"No. I never said I didn’t hate you. Besides, Slytherins don’t have friends." Harry slowed a little and looked at Malfoy, but he was unable to read his expression. "Speaking of Slytherins," Malfoy continued, "they’re going to bash you up when you try to get onto the pitch."

Harry paused as he reached the base of the stairs. "The pitch isn’t the only place to fly, Malfoy." He turned and hurried up to Gryffindor Tower to get his broom.

When he returned to the entrance hall, Harry was totally unsurprised to see Malfoy waiting for him, holding his own broom. "Race you? Twice around the castle?" Malfoy asked, obviously trying but failing miserably to appear bored.

"Sure," Harry said and turned his head so the Slytherin wouldn’t see his grin. Malfoy was the only person Harry knew who could challenge him in speed flying; racing him would be fun.

Even though Malfoy cheated by taking a head start, Harry passed him during the second lap and beat him soundly. He felt exhilarated and oddly calm as he landed on the ground, as if he had completely outrun his problems and anger. He knew the euphoria wouldn’t last, so he savoured it while he could.

The Slytherin scowled at him. "I would have beaten you if I had a Firebolt," he complained. "Father would have …" He abruptly turned away from Harry and headed toward the castle. Harry suspected Malfoy was going to say that his father would have bought him the coveted broom, and he couldn’t help scowling at the reminder that Malfoy was the son of a Death Eater.

An anxious-looking McGonagall greeted them just inside the door. "What are you doing outside after dark?" she hissed at Harry.

"It’s not past curfew," Harry protested, feeling annoyed. "Besides, I wasn’t alone."

The look McGonagall gave Malfoy made it clear that she suspected Harry was in even more danger in his company than alone, but the Slytherin stood his ground and glared right back at her. She said nothing to Malfoy, but turned back to Harry and said, "The headmaster wishes to see you in his office right away." Her expression gave nothing away, and Harry wondered what on earth had happened this time.

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	16. From the Edge

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Special thanks to Ginnysdarkside, who has been my main beta reader for over a year, since my first chapter of "Searching for Dawn". I first posted on August 14, 2003, and my first anniversary has made me a bit nostalgic. Thanks also to Swishandflick, who has endured me through sixteen chapters so far, and has agreed to stay on, even though his life is changing drastically and he’s extremely busy. Hugs and thanks to Gianfar, who has become a wonderful friend in addition to a beta reader, and isn’t afraid to tell me the truth.

 

I find the answers aren't so clear  
Wish I could find a way to disappear  
All these thoughts they make no sense  
I find bliss in ignorance  
Nothing seems to go away  
Over and over again  
Just like before

Everything you say to me  
Takes me one step closer to the edge  
And I'm about to break

"One Step Closer" by Linkin Park

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Harry sat across from Dumbledore in stunned silence. "I’m sorry, Harry," said the headmaster in a gentle tone.

Harry opened and closed his mouth several times, then finally managed to stammer, "B-but th-they were under th-the F-Fidelius Charm!"

"They were under a form of the Fidelius Charm, yes. They insisted on being allowed to interact with their Muggle neighbours and co-workers. They were only invisible to magical folk."

"Aunt P-Petunia? D-Dudley?"

"Remus is with your aunt now. She is being relocated, of course. There is some debate as to whether Dudley can safely remain at school."

Harry slumped back in his chair, his thoughts in a whirl. Uncle Vernon was dead. Murdered. He couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around it. "Tell me what happened," he whispered.

"His secretary says he left his office at the usual time. About an hour later, his body was found in an alley near his office building with one gunshot wound to the head. His wallet was missing."

"Then it might have just been a random mugging," Harry said hopefully.

"No, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, shaking his head. "Voldemort is not above hiring Muggles if it serves his purposes."

"But you’re not sure it was him, are you?"

"I’m sorry, Harry, but I am."

Suddenly, Harry felt as if it was too much effort to keep his head up. "It’s not fair," he murmured toward his shoes. "They had nothing to do with this."

"They chose to protect you, Harry. They knew the risks."

"No!" Harry’s head snapped up and he glared at the Headmaster. A sudden rush of anger brought him to his feet. "NO! THEY COULDN’T HAVE POSSIBLY UNDERSTOOD THE RISKS! They were MUGGLES!"

"Petunia’s sister was murdered by Voldemort. She understood what could happen."

"THEY HATED ME! THEY RESENTED HAVING TO KEEP ME!" Harry was starting to feel light headed and he forced himself to take deep breaths. "They never wanted anything to do with our world. IT’S NOT FAIR!" Harry’s knees suddenly felt very unstable. He allowed his legs to collapse beneath him and fell back into his chair.

"I am sorry for your loss, Harry."

"Don’t be," Harry said bitterly. "We hated each other."

"But you are sorry he’s gone."

Harry looked into the headmaster’s unreadable eyes for a moment before answering honestly. "No, I’m not."

"Yet you feel guilty about it."

"Yes," Harry granted, thinking hard. Why did he feel guilty? Why was he so angry? "It’s like … he was an innocent bystander," he finally said. "I mean, he wasn’t a nice bloke or anything – in fact, he was a right bastard. But he didn’t deserve to die just because he happened to marry into my family. It’s just … wrong."

"It’s very wrong," Dumbledore agreed, "but it can in no way be perceived as your fault."

After a moment of hesitation, Harry nodded. Even though he disagreed with the Headmaster, he knew it would do no good to argue. "What was the point of it, though?" he asked. "Why kill someone I hate?"

"From Voldemort’s point of view, your uncle’s murder accomplishes two things. First, it upsets you greatly. He would not know of your enmity with your uncle and would assume you would be devastated. Secondly, since he knows we will no longer allow you to live with your aunt, it effectively destroys the protection from your mother’s blood. My guess is that your aunt and cousin were meant to be killed as well."

To his surprise, Harry found himself feeling glad Aunt Petunia and Dudley were not physically harmed, though he wasn’t sure if he genuinely cared about their well-being or if he was glad that their deaths weren’t an additional weight on his conscience. "Will you let me know what happens with them?" he asked. As Dumbledore nodded and opened his mouth to speak, Harry suddenly thought of something else. "Will this be in the Daily Prophet tomorrow?"

"We will delay it as long as we can," Dumbledore assured him. "At the moment, the Muggle police are investigating the crime and the Ministry is refusing to get involved in what they see as a Muggle matter. It should be a few days before the Press realizes what has happened."

Harry was glad for that small boon; maybe he would be spared from talking about it until he was able to get his emotions under control.

************************************

Harry told Ron and Hermione about his uncle’s murder, but he left them with the impression that it was simply a Muggle robbery gone wrong. He didn’t want them to know how far Voldemort was willing to go to hurt those he was close to. Ron had already had a taste of that during the summer, and Harry didn’t want to worry either of them further.

Two days passed, and there was no mention of the murder in the Daily Prophet, much to Harry’s relief. Ron and Hermione knew enough about his relationship with his uncle to avoid the topic, but Harry was afraid the anger constantly bubbling below the surface of his consciousness would be in danger of erupting if his classmates started bombarding him with questions and expressions of sympathy.

The effort of tightly controlling his anger made him feel like a caged hippogriff. Time spent alone with Luna forced him to contemplate his feelings and motivations toward her, which only frustrated him further. He was relieved when Thursday evening’s Quidditch practice arrived with its promise of a physical release for his aggravation, but the hope died quickly as he continued to fly badly throughout the entire training session.

As they landed at the end of practice, Harry noticed a familiar figure waiting on the pitch, but Ron reached him first. "Get out! This is a closed practice!" The entire Gryffindor Quidditch team advanced upon the Slytherin Seeker, who stood his ground.

"According to the schedule, you’re already five minutes over," drawled Malfoy. "I’m standing on an unscheduled pitch – anyone has the right to be here." The Slytherin clamped his mouth shut as if he was restraining himself from saying more.

"Go on, Ron, I’ll take care of this," Harry said in a tone that implied he was going to clean up something very nasty. He was frustrated from the unfruitful practice, and Malfoy was the last person he wanted to see. Ron gave Harry a blatantly doubtful look. "Go on," Harry repeated. "He’s not going to hex me or anything," he turned to Malfoy and spoke pointedly, "are you?"

"I’m not making any promises," the Slytherin returned with a smirk.

Harry watched as Ron looked back and forth between them for a moment in a calculating way, taking in the annoyance on Harry’s face and the smirk on Malfoy’s. He knew Ron was still having trouble accepting that Harry and Malfoy were no longer enemies; his hatred for the Slytherin had not abated in the least. The rest of the team seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to see what Ron would decide.

Finally, Harry caught Ron’s eye and jerked his head toward the castle, telling him nonverbally to go on. Ron gave him a look that clearly said, "Are you sure?" and Harry returned with a look that said, "Give me some credit." Ron shrugged and stalked off the pitch with the team following in his wake.

As soon as the team was out of earshot, Harry said, "Okay, Malfoy, what are you doing out here?"

"You’re not up to your usual standard," Malfoy said, ignoring the question. "What’s your problem tonight?" The concern in his tone was too forced to be sincere, and his smirk conveyed his amusement.

Harry couldn’t keep the blush from his face; he knew he’d been flying poorly. "I’ve been distracted," he muttered in a bitter voice. "Besides, there’s not really a good way for a Seeker to train."

"Except to scrimmage against another Seeker," Malfoy said, matching Harry’s tone, but giving him a look that was clearly an invitation.

Harry’s mood began to improve immediately, but he continued speaking in the same tone of voice. "Not much of a challenge – you’ve never beat me."

"I will tonight," Malfoy said with confidence, "if what I saw earlier is any indication."

"Taking advantage are you?"

"Always."

Malfoy beat him to the Snitch three times before Harry gave up, thoroughly disgusted with himself. He thought he would be motivated by the competition, but the anger that seemed permanently lodged in his stomach had somehow drained him of all enthusiasm, even for Quidditch. He also wasn’t sleeping well, and the combination made him fly sluggishly and slowed his reaction time.

"Are you going to tell me what your problem is?" Malfoy demanded. "You flew better than that your first time on a broom!"

"It’s none of your business," Harry snapped before he realized the Slytherin’s expression was sincere. A mask of indifference fell over Malfoy’s face as soon as Harry spoke, and the Slytherin started walking toward the castle without another word.

Harry watched him go, wondering if it was possible that he had hurt Malfoy’s feelings. Harry’s anger was coming from several different sources, but the strongest at the moment was his uncle’s death. He knew it was only a matter of time before the story would appear in the Daily Prophet, so it seemed that this might be one of the few times he could safely disclose something to the Slytherin.

"Wait, Malfoy!" Harry yelled, running to catch up. Malfoy didn’t slow his pace until Harry reached him and spoke. "My uncle was murdered two days ago."

The Slytherin stopped and turned slowly toward Harry with an unreadable expression. "Well, even though he was only a Muggle, I guess they’re the only family you’ve ever known, so I suppose I should say I’m sorry to hear that."

"Don’t be sorry," Harry said bitterly, ignoring the Slytherin’s distain toward Muggles. "There was no love lost between us."

Malfoy eyes widened, giving him a slightly stunned expression. "That seems rather ungrateful – even for you."

Harry gazed at Malfoy for a moment, trying to decide what to tell him. He had never seen the Slytherin so unguarded, and that thought made up his mind. "You said he was my family. Well, he certainly didn’t treat me like family. I was starved, told I was a freak, and made to do all the chores." Harry said all this with a dispassionate voice; he didn’t want sympathy from Malfoy, he just wanted to explain his attitude.

Many emotions crossed Malfoy’s face before he finally settled on disbelief. "You’re making that up. You were famous – every kid in our world knew your name."

"I knew nothing about magic until I got my Hogwarts letter."

"But you must have done accidental magic when you were younger – all kids do it."

"I did," Harry agreed, "but I was punished for it. I didn’t realize it was actually me doing it. It never occurred to me that magic might be real."

Malfoy opened and closed his mouth several times, apparently at a loss for words. Harry felt a pang of sympathy knowing how difficult it must be for the Slytherin to be asked to change his most basic perception of his long-time nemesis. "Look," Harry said, "you commented on my clothes that night in the kitchens. I only get my cousin’s hand-me-downs. The first clothes I ever had of my own were the robes you saw me buying the day we met in Madam Malkin’s."

At the mention of that meeting, Malfoy’s eyes widened in surprise. "You remember that?"

"Of course. You were the first wizard my age I had ever met."

"Why weren’t you more friendly? I thought you were a snob."

Harry couldn’t help a smile at the irony, remembering his similar impressions of Malfoy. "I had just that morning found out that magic was real. I didn’t want you to know how ignorant I was of the wizarding world – I was embarrassed." Harry couldn’t help wondering if years of hatred and petty rivalry would have been avoided if that first meeting had been slightly different. As he watched the play of emotions on Malfoy’s face, he wondered if the Slytherin was thinking the same thing.

Malfoy shrugged and resumed walking, apparently at a loss for what to say for the second time that night. Harry fell into step beside him, and they finished the trek to the castle in companionable silence. When they reached the entrance hall, Malfoy said, "Potter," with a nod and disappeared down the stairs. Harry hurried up to his own common room.

"I was about to send out an army to rescue you," said Ron as Harry climbed through the portrait hole. "Where’ve you been?"

"Seeker scrimmaging with Malfoy," Harry said in a quiet voice, unwilling for the whole common room to overhear.

"And he never hexed you?" Ron asked with a look of disbelief.

"Ron!" Hermione said sharply. Harry turned to her and realized she was studying his face. "Harry, you don’t trust Malfoy, do you?" she asked.

"Of course not!" Harry said quickly, rolling his eyes. He was getting a little tired of the close scrutiny of his association with the Slytherin. "I’m not stupid. We were just flying, for heaven’s sake." Hermione and Ron both gave him similar doubtful looks. "Could everybody please just get over it? It’s really nobody’s business who I fly with and who I partner in Potions!" Harry knew his anger was an overreaction to his friends’ concern, but he suddenly felt unable to stay in the common room any longer, and he turned and ran up the stairs to the dormitory.

As soon as Harry had thrown his Firebolt in the corner and flung himself on his bed, Ron entered the room and cast locking and silencing charms on the door. Harry refused to look at his friend, and steeled himself against the verbal assault he knew was coming.

Ron sat on the edge of Harry’s bed and surprised Harry by speaking in a quiet voice. "I’m not going to apologize for being suspicious of Malfoy. He’s been horrible to us for years, and this change of heart seems rather sudden for both of you. He’s the son of a Death Eater. I know it’s not fair to judge him by his father, but we’re at war and you and Lucius Malfoy are on opposite sides."

"Draco Malfoy is no Death Eater," Harry said in a stubborn voice.

"Look, Harry, what would you think if I suddenly started hanging around with Theodore Nott?" Harry looked at his friend’s earnest expression and nodded slightly to concede the point. Ron met Harry’s eyes and continued, "If Malfoy is sincere, I’m all for him joining our side or whatever. But you can’t blame me for being suspicious. I’m just looking out for you, mate." Harry’s anger began to dissipate slightly in response to his friend’s concern.

"But this isn’t all about Malfoy, is it?" Ron continued, giving him a surprisingly perceptive look. "You’ve been wound tighter than a spring for the last couple of days." Ron paused, eyes boring into Harry’s, presumably waiting for Harry to explain. When the silence began to get uncomfortable he said, "Since your uncle died," in a leading fashion and paused again.

"Well, how do you expect me to act?" Harry said a little more sharply than he intended.

"I’ve been thinking about it," he said slowly, eyes glued to Harry’s. "You’ve been very angry and jumpy since he died – more so than usual. You hated him, so I don’t think you’re really upset that he died. I think it has something to do with the way he died." Ron took a deep breath. "It was Voldemort, wasn’t it?"

Harry stared at the canopy above him for a moment before answering, not even noticing his friend’s use of the dreaded name. "I didn’t lie to you," he finally said. "A Muggle actually pulled the trigger, but it was on Voldemort’s orders."

"Why didn’t you tell us?"

"I don’t know," Harry answered, wondering how to explain. "It just makes me really mad – he was killed just because Voldemort thought he was close to me. Dumbledore thinks he meant to kill my aunt and cousin, too. And he went after your family last summer. He’s after me, and he’ll do anything to get to me, including killing people close to me." He paused here, realizing that he was only telling Ron things he already knew. "I guess I just didn’t want to worry you. I probably should have warned you – anyone close to me is in a lot of danger."

Ron looked at a spot behind Harry’s head for a few minutes, apparently processing this information. Harry tensed again, certain that Ron was going to yell at him this time.

When Ron turned his eyes back to Harry’s, there was a little bit of hurt in them. "Are you afraid Hermione and I won’t want to be your friends any more if there’s too much danger?"

"Of course n-" Harry began, but as he looked into Ron’s eyes he realized he wasn’t being completely honest. "Mostly I think I want to protect you, I guess. Part of me wants to push you away so you won’t be in as much danger, but I like having you around. And part of me doesn’t want you to know how much danger you’re in so you won’t worry, but you need to know … things."

"I’m not even going to comment on what an idiot you are, because I think there’s more you’re not telling us, isn’t there?"

"What makes you say that?" Harry asked, avoiding Ron’s eyes.

"Why is Voldemort after you? I mean, no offence, mate, but you’re just a kid, and he’s one of the most powerful wizards ever. I could understand that he wanted revenge or something for what happened to him when you were a baby, but this is getting ridiculous, even for a lunatic. And what’s even weirder – Dumbledore is taking the threat seriously. He’s got you in Occlumency and private defence lessons. There’s something else going on here, and Hermione and I think it has something to do with that prophecy that had both your names on it in the Department of Mysteries."

Harry sighed. He was annoyed that his best friends had been speculating about his situation, but decided that small betrayal paled in comparison to the huge secret he’d been hiding from them.

"I know what the prophecy says," Harry confessed. "Dumbledore told me that night. Voldemort only heard part of it – he was trying to steal it so he could hear it all." He hesitated, not really wanting to go on. Ron leaned forward slightly and opened his eyes wider, prodding him silently. "The prophecy says that I’m the one with the power to defeat Voldemort. It says that I have to either kill him or be killed by him."

Harry expected Ron to gasp and stammer in shock, or at least look surprised, but his friend only frowned and nodded. "We figured it must be something like that – that it would all come down to you in the end." He narrowed his eyes as if thinking hard. "Why is Dumbledore sure it’s you? There was a question mark by your name."

"The prophecy specified my birth date, my parents, and that Voldemort would mark me."

"That’s pretty specific," Ron agreed.

"You’re taking this very calmly," Harry observed.

"Well, it’s not a big shock after all that’s happened over the years." He paused for a moment, then asked, "Who else knows about this?"

"Only a few members of the Order. Remus, Professor Shacklebolt, Professor McGonagall, Snape, Moody…" He stopped and coloured slightly. "… your parents and Bill."

"You told my parents and Bill and didn’t tell me?" Ron looked hurt, and Harry felt the need to explain quickly.

"Actually, you’re the first person I’ve told – Dumbledore told the others. I’m sorry, Ron – I just couldn’t tell anyone. I guess saying it out loud makes it more real, somehow."

Ron’s expression softened, and he nodded. "Can I tell Hermione – or do you want to?"

"Go ahead – I’d rather not tell it again," said Harry. "Just make sure you’re not overheard." His mouth curled up into a smirk. "I guess that won’t be a problem, will it?"

"No – we’ve got a bit of experience in finding places to be alone," Ron said without even a hint of embarrassment. His expression turned serious, eyes narrowing in determination, and he said, "Now all we’ve got to do is figure out how you’re going to kill him, and what we can do to help."

Harry hoped his smile conveyed the appreciation he felt for Ron’s support. Before he could speak, a pounding at the door caused them both to jump. "Oi! Let us in!" called Dean’s voice.

"The silencing charm only works one way," Ron explained. "Dead useful in letting Hermione and I know if someone’s coming."

"That was more than I needed to know," said Harry with a grimace as Ron released the spells.

Later, as Harry lay in bed, he reflected on the events of the evening. He had wondered if he and Malfoy could have avoided years of animosity if that meeting in Madam Malkin’s had gone differently, but now realized that if it had, he might not have met Ron on the Hogwarts Express. He smiled slightly, thinking that despite everything, he wouldn’t change that for the world.

****************************************

Harry woke up the next morning feeling refreshed, surprised that he had slept peacefully all night. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had a full night of sleep. Perhaps talking about his problems was more therapeutic than trying to escape them.

His conversation with Ron had proved to be much more fulfilling than snogging his girlfriend. Harry had begun to realize that though he liked Luna, his feelings were not strong enough to sustain a relationship, and he wondered if he had only been using her physical attraction has a means of escape all along. That thought made him very uncomfortable; Luna was a nice girl and she didn’t deserve that.

By the time he finished breakfast, he knew what he had to do, but he had to work up the nerve. His quiet, preoccupied moods were such a regular occurrence that his friends didn’t question him, but he was warmed when Ron gave him a look of understanding instead of the worried, questioning expression his face usually held.

Harry spent the day going to his classes and meals in a daze, trying to convince himself that he should break it off with Luna that night, and steeling himself against her reaction. By the time he entered Snape’s office for Occlumency, his anxiety had been replaced by determination, and he was able to clear his mind and focus on his lesson.

The nervousness returned as he was heading to their usual meeting place on the fifth floor after Occlumency, but he shoved it down, forcing himself to mentally recount all the reasons he was doing the right thing. However, Luna took one look at him and said, "You’re different tonight," causing every word of his planned speech to flee his mind.

"I-I c-can’t … W-we can’t … This isn’t …" he stammered, gesturing between the two of them.

Luna nodded serenely as if he had just given an eloquent speech. "You’re ready to break it off," she said in an expressionless voice. "You’ve felt it too."

"I-I … felt what?" Harry asked, nonplussed.

"The vulmak’s mating season is almost over. The power of the pheromones is almost gone now." She cocked her head to one side and regarded him in an uncharacteristically calculating manner. "You don’t need me any more."

"R-right … well … er …"

"I’m glad it was you, Harry, and not some other boy. Most boys would have taken advantage of my vulnerability." Harry continued to stare at her, opening and closing his mouth in disbelief. He had been taking advantage of her, but she thought he was being noble! He felt he had to explain, but for some reason only nonsense would come out of his mouth.

"I-I’m not … er … I w-wasn’t ... er …"

"Thanks, Harry," Luna said. She kissed him on the cheek and breezed out of the room, leaving Harry to wonder what had just happened, and how it was possible to feel horrible and relieved at the same time.

He shook his head to gather his scattered wits and remembered there was a second part of his plan he needed to put into action. He hurried eagerly through the castle, knocked on a certain door, and entered when bidden.

"Hi, Harry," said the surprised voice. "Anything wrong?"

"I-I j-just wanted to … talk," Harry said, feeling unreasonably nervous. "Do you have some time?"

"I always have time for you," Remus said with a huge grin. He was obviously very pleased, and Harry’s trepidation evaporated.


	17. Meet the Press

Author’s Notes: Thanks to Swishandflick, Ginnysdarkside, and Gianfar for making this chapter better. Sorry it took so long. About 75% of this chapter was not in my outline – I had a plot bunny after I finished chapter 16.

Check out Remus Lupin’s journal, “The Moon’s White Face”

http://www.checkmated.com/story.php?story=3709

More notes at the end…

********************************

A Cord of Three Strands

By Cindale

Chapter 17

“Meet the Press”

“Though one may be overpowered,

Two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”

Ecclesiastes 4:12

*******************************

Harry paced the floor of Remus’s sitting room as he ranted about Snape’s insults. His anger caused the teacup he had been using to shatter, spilling its contents all over the table, but he barely noticed as he continued to yell. Remus casually waved his wand and repaired the damage without appearing to shift his attention from Harry.

It had been difficult for Harry to tell Remus about the verbal abuse; despite his training and six years of experience with the Potions Master, the insults still hurt. Even though he knew it was ridiculous, part of him was ashamed of the words, as if they were actually true and repeating them would cause Remus to feel disgust for him. He knew this feeling probably stemmed from his childhood with the Dursleys when he had been convinced he was a freak and didn’t deserve love. Even though his rational mind knew this wasn’t true, it was deeply ingrained. Harry sometimes wondered if he would be afraid of not being loved the rest of his life.

Remus was a great listener; he didn’t try to calm Harry with platitudes, and he didn’t tell him to harden himself against the abuse, reminding him that this training was necessary to the war. Instead, he just sat back and let Harry pour out his anger without interruption.

Just as Harry was starting to calm down, they were both startled by the appearance of Dumbledore’s head in the stone fireplace.

“Can I help you, Headmaster?” Remus asked courteously, apparently recovering quickly from his surprise.

“Ah, I see Harry is there,” Dumbledore said in a mild tone, but Harry could have sworn he heard a note of relief. He took a step toward the fireplace, his curiosity overcoming his annoyance at being interrupted. “Harry,” the headmaster continued, “I wonder if you would mind staying in Remus’s rooms for the night.” He said this in a quiet but firm voice that made it clear there was no other option. “I will see to it that your Head of House and friends do not worry about you.”

“What’s going on?” Harry asked.

“You will find out very soon,” said Dumbledore. “Goodnight.”

“Wait!” Harry called as the head disappeared. The anger that had burned against Snape only moments before flared again in full force. He turned to Remus and said, “I thought you people were going to tell me things.”

“I don’t think it was you, Harry,” Remus said in a testy voice. “I don’t think he wanted to say anything through the Floo Network.”

“Oh – right,” Harry said, avoiding his guardian’s eyes as his anger quickly faded into annoyance.

“Would you like some hot chocolate before bed?” Remus asked.

Harry shrugged and flopped into a chair. He knew Remus was trying to lighten his mood, but he wasn’t really ready to stop feeling angry. As Remus poured the steaming liquid into two mugs, he asked Harry about Quidditch, and Harry soon found himself relaxing and sipping from his mug without even realizing it.

They slowly drank their chocolate, talking only of trivial things such as Quidditch and schoolwork. Harry was amazed at how calm he felt, as if the warm liquid was dousing the flames of anger that had burned in his chest earlier. He remembered that chocolate was a remedy for exposure to dark creatures such as dementors, and wondered if the negative emotions that dementors drew to the surface were really so closely related to anger as to require the same cure.

When their cups had been filled and emptied twice, Remus suggested they call it a night, insisting that Harry sleep in the bed. Remus said he didn’t mind a kip on the sofa, but Harry suspected that his guardian actually wanted to sleep closer to the exit as a way of standing guard. Harry appreciated the fatherly protectiveness, but it also slightly annoyed him to be treated like a child.

The next morning Remus invited Harry to share his breakfast. Along with enough eggs, toast, and tea for at least four men, the house-elves brought the Saturday edition of the Daily Prophet. The headline proclaimed that five Death Eaters had been captured the night before.

Harry punched the air with exuberance as he read the article. “It’s about time,” he said. “Why haven’t we been arresting Death Eaters all along? We know who a lot of them are.”

“The Ministry can’t just go around arresting people – they have to catch them in the act,” Remus said.

“Why?” Harry asked between mouthfuls of toast.

 

“Imagine an Auror arrests Thurston Nott,” Remus said, adopting what Harry thought of as his “teacher” voice. “We know he’s a Death Eater, and we suspect that he was involved in booby trapping the Floo Network in December. A parade of ‘model citizens’ would come forward to testify to his character and give him an alibi, even if we had an eye witness. The Wizengamot would likely have enough reasonable doubt to keep him out of Azkaban.”

“But it’s no secret he’s a Death Eater! He was there when Voldemort was resurrected – I heard him say his name! Why would there even be a trial?”

Remus suddenly seemed to be fascinated with his teacup, his fingers fiddling with the handle, and when he spoke again, his voice was bitter. “Remember what happened to Sirius? He didn’t get a trial. A lot of people didn’t back then. The laws have evolved a bit since then to prevent something like that from happening again.”

“But we know Nott is guilty,” Harry protested.

“Everyone knew Sirius was guilty, too,” Remus swallowed, “even me.” He took a deep breath and looked into Harry’s eyes. “I know it’s hard to understand, but there’s a delicate balance between protecting the public and individual freedoms. I have a hard time understanding it, too. But as someone whose freedom has been violated only because of something I can’t help, I can understand the Ministry’s caution.”

Harry nodded, conceding the point, but still feeling frustrated. After a moment, another thought occurred to him. “Wait – you said we had to catch them in the act. What were they doing last night?”

“The Prophet doesn’t say,” Remus said, scanning the article with his eyes. “I’m surprised they were able to keep it out of the paper. It must have been something that would cause wide-spread terror if it got out to the public.”

Harry’s stomach clenched in anger as he wondered what could be worse than the attack on the Floo Network. “Why can’t we attack them – the Death Eaters? Isn’t this a war?”

“Where would we attack?” Remus asked with a shrug. “You heard Snape in the Order meeting – he doesn’t even know where Voldemort’s headquarters are.”

“What’s Snape doing, anyway? Why haven’t we been able to catch more Death Eaters in the act?”

“We have to be very careful how we use Snape’s information. We can’t risk exposing him. I suspect Snape told Dumbledore about the raid last night and Dumbledore decided that, in this case, the risk to innocent people outweighed the risk of losing our only spy. But if we were to prevent every planned Death Eater attack that Snape knew about, he would fall under suspicion, and he’s our only source of inside information about Voldemort.”

Harry thought about that. Even though it was frustrating, he realized it was more important to the war effort as a whole to protect Snape as much as they could.

“Sweet Merlin!” Remus said, interrupting Harry’s musings. “Look at this.” He folded the paper so that the second page was on the outside and handed it to Harry, who read:

“BOY-WHO-LIVES LOSES UNCLE”

By Phyllis Walker, Daily Prophet staff reporter

Harry Potter, the boy whose life has taken one tragic turn after another, now has another reason to mourn. His uncle, Vernon Dursley of Little Whinging, was tragically killed last week. Dursley, a Muggle, is survived by his wife, Potter’s mother’s Muggle sister, the former Petunia Evans. He is also survived by one son who has shown no signs of magic.

The Dursleys raised Mr. Potter from the time he was a year old, when “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named” tragically deprived him of his parents. Petunia Dursley and her son are now Mr. Potter’s only living relatives.

Dursley was killed by a gun, a Muggle contraption that explodes and sends a projectile into the body of the victim. His wallet and money (called quid) were missing which led Muggle authorities to believe he was a victim of robbery.

The Prophet tried to contact Mr. Potter for an interview, but Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, declined on his behalf, saying, “The boy has suffered yet another loss, please allow him a chance to mourn in peace.”

Harry had to smile at that last sentence. Dumbledore knew he wasn’t mourning at all, but Harry had to appreciate the gesture; he would have had trouble acting sad and pretending to remember his uncle fondly with a reporter asking him questions. He looked up at Remus, who was quirking an eyebrow inquisitively, but Harry just shrugged and said, “I knew it would eventually be in the paper. I’m just glad it wasn’t on the front page.”

Harry took his leave of Remus quickly after breakfast, impatient to discuss the Death Eater arrests with his friends. As he was ascending the stairs to the seventh floor he realized he had no idea what excuse Professor Dumbledore had given the other Gryffindors for his absence the night before. He had a brief moment of panic as he opened the portrait hole, but he should have known there was no reason to worry with Hermione’s quick thinking. She spoke loudly as soon as he entered the crowded common room, eyes narrowed as though with concern. “Harry, are you feeling better? Professor McGonagall told us you stayed in the hospital wing with a stomach ache last night.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, catching on immediately. “Still a little queasy, but I should be fine by lunchtime.”

He flopped next to Ron on the sofa, who immediately leaned over and whispered, “Where were you really last night?”

“You didn’t believe McGonagall’s story?” Harry said, eyes widening in mock innocence.

“Spill it, Harry,” Hermione murmured, leaning over Ron to address him.

Harry quietly told them everything that had happened after Occlumency the night before.

“What were the Death Eaters doing when they were arrested?” Hermione asked when he was finished.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered. “Remus didn’t know anything, either, but he speculated that it must have been pretty bad for it to be kept out of the newspaper.” Hermione’s eyes widened with fear, but Ron’s narrowed.

“I don’t get it,” Ron said, “why did you have to stay with Remus last night?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said again with a shrug. “Maybe Dumbledore was afraid I would run off and try to help if I found out what was going on. Maybe it was close to Hogwarts, and he was afraid one of them might be able to get in.”

“That’s silly,” said Hermione with disdain. “Hogwarts is virtually impregnable. You’re perfectly safe here. He must have been afraid you’d leave.”

Hermione’s words caused Harry to remember the Order meeting he had attended in December. The wards around Hogwarts were weakening; Dumbledore had said they were tied to his health, which was slowly declining. He silently debated whether to tell this to his best friends, but decided against it. Ron and Hermione didn’t need to worry about safety on top of everything else.

Harry shrugged again and forced a smile. “But isn’t it great that the Ministry finally caught some Death Eaters?” he said to change the subject.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, breaking into his own smile. “I hope it was Bellatrix Lestrange.”

They spent the next half hour speculating about the identity of the Death Eaters and what they had been doing when they were caught. It was almost fun to pretend they were talking about something far removed from Hogwarts life, something that could never touch them personally.

Over the next few days, most of the gossip and speculation around the school was focused on the Death Eater arrests, but a number of students expressed condolences to Harry about his uncle and a few even embraced him with sympathetic expressions. Thanks to several long talks with Remus, Harry was able to hide his true feelings and accept the gestures with an appearance of sadness and gratefulness. His guardian accepted his emotions without judgement or criticism, and he found that if he could express his anger in a controlled situation it was less likely to explode unexpectedly.

The day after the article appeared, Ginny cornered Harry in the common room and enveloped him in a hug. He thrilled to the feeling of her body pressed against his, but after a moment he realized he was clinging to her and escaped quickly. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry to get away he would have wondered about the frustration in her expression.

********************************************

One day in March, Harry was walking alone to the library during a free period when he found himself ushering an insistent beetle into an unused classroom, feeling a sense of déjà vu as he did so. “You know,” he said as he closed the door, “since the Ministry doesn’t know you’re an Animagus, if I stepped on you I couldn’t be convicted of murder.”

“The body reverts to its natural form at the point of death,” Rita Skeeter said with a pout, having changed back into a human.

“So you’d stay a bug,” Harry observed conversationally.

“Very funny,” said Rita in a wounded tone. “How’s this for funny? ‘Boy-Who-Lives befriends son of Death Eater’.” She punctuated the last phrase with gestures as if throwing the words in the air.

Harry stared at her for a moment in shock while her expression became very smug. He had assumed the reporter wanted information about his uncle; it hadn’t occurred to Harry that she might want to print something about his … lack of animosity with Draco Malfoy. He supposed he should have known that the school gossip would eventually reach the ears of the adults. Harry couldn’t deny that he had developed a relationship of sorts with the Slytherin; they continued to partner in Potions and practiced Quidditch together twice a week. The gossip, however, focused on their loyalties; some believed that Harry was trying to convince Malfoy to support him against Voldemort, while others believed that Malfoy was teaching Harry to be a Death Eater. In reality nothing of the sort was going on; they never talked about the war at all. Harry had been both amused and annoyed by the childish rumours, but the prospect of speculation in the newspaper wasn’t funny at all.

The anger he had successfully suppressed over the past few weeks bubbled to the surface again and Harry cursed in a manner that would have impressed the Weasley twins. “You print that and I’ll tell the world you’re really a bug,” he growled at Rita.

“It’s going to be printed whether I do it or not,” Rita told him, not bothering to hide her triumphant smirk. “I convinced the editor to hold the story because I knew I could get an exclusive interview with you. Wouldn’t you rather the real story be told?”

She knew he’d agree to an interview? Of course she did; she knew he’d have no choice but to try to regain some control over the situation. He took several deep breaths as he forcefully reigned in his anger and tried to think rationally. If Rita knew that he and Malfoy had put aside their hostility, it was certain that other people outside the school had heard, including Death Eaters. If he agreed to the interview, he might be able to finally put to rest the gossip about their relationship. But if he didn’t … it was annoying to have the students at Hogwarts speculating about them, but it could prove deadly to have the entire wizarding world under the impression they were best mates.

“Okay,” he finally said, looking Rita squarely in the eye. “But I have conditions, and if they’re not met, I’ll tell your secret right before I ‘accidentally’ squash you.”

************************************************

Harry and Malfoy were already seated when Rita Skeeter walked into the unused classroom. She was alone, which Harry had insisted upon. The reporter nodded at Harry and Malfoy, and then stared with surprise at the third person in the room.

“Remus Lupin,” said Harry’s guardian with a big smile, extending his hand toward Rita.

“Y-you … y-you’re … y-y-you’re a …” Rita stammered, ignoring the outstretched hand. Harry and Remus had assumed Rita would remember the name from the rumours that had surrounded Remus’s resignation from Hogwarts three years earlier, and apparently they were correct.

Remus’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I am Harry’s guardian.” Harry had to suppress a laugh at Rita’s horrified expression.

The reporter continued to stammer as Remus cast a silencing charm on the room, a recording spell on a small box, and a third charm that would allow Dumbledore, who was sitting in the next room, to hear everything. Then Remus sat in the empty seat between Harry and Malfoy and looked expectantly at Rita.

“How can you be his guardian?” Rita finally managed as she slowly sank into a chair across from the three men. “A werewolf can only be the legal guardian of his or her natural child. And even then...”

“Really?” Remus said, and Harry suppressed a smile at his feigned innocence. “The transfer after Sirius Black’s death went without a hitch.”

“Someone must have failed to cross-check the records,” Rita mused.

“Possibly,” Remus said with a twinkle in his eye, and Harry had to bite his lip.

“B-but – but Harry, what if he bites you?” She whispered this to Harry behind her hand as if hiding the question from Remus.

“He hasn’t yet,” Harry proclaimed, struggling to set his face into an impassive expression. That earned a sidelong glare from his guardian, so he added, “I’ve never been in any danger from him at all.”

“Maybe you haven’t felt you were in danger, Harry,” Rita said, apparently having recovered enough to slide back into her silky reporter’s tone, “but honestly – living with a werewolf?”

“I don’t live with him,” Harry said with a shrug and a roll of his eyes. “I live at Hogwarts.”

“But won’t you live with him during the summer now that your uncle is dead?” Rita persisted, leaning forward slightly. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll be left all alone with no one to care for you? Or worse – that you’ll be killed or cursed with his … condition?”

Harry saw Remus stiffen out of the corner of his eye, and his amusement faded. He opened his mouth, but Remus spoke first. “Harry has many adults who care deeply for him. Thanks to recent advances in the Wolfsbane Potion, I am only unavailable to him one night out of the month. Harry will always have the care he needs.”

“But what if you escape and bite him?”

“I am very well secured. He is in no danger.”

“But wh-“

“Look,” Harry interrupted, growing annoyed, “I’ve never been afraid of Remus, and I never will be.” That wasn’t precisely true; he had been very afraid when he watched Remus turn into a werewolf during his third year, but he met Rita’s eye with an expression that dared her to contradict him. “He turns into an animal one night a month. So what? You’re a bug more often than that.”

“I am a beetle,” said the reporter, drawing herself up in an obvious attempt to appear dignified. “And there’s certainly a difference between an insect and a ravenous beast.”

“I don’t know,” drawled Malfoy. Rita started, apparently having forgotten the Slytherin was in the room. “I’ve seen some mosquitoes that I would put in that category.”

“What do you think about this, Mr. Malfoy?” Rita spat. Harry suspected she was trying to regain control of the situation in the best way she knew how. “Doesn’t it scare you to be sitting next to a werewolf?”

“Why would it?” Malfoy said with a shrug. “He can only change during the Full Moon. You, on the other hand, could change any minute and give me a painful sting.”

“How dare you imply that I’m more da-“ Rita snarled, but Malfoy cut her off.

“Look, I’m beginning to feel a little neglected here. I thought this interview was supposed to be about me.”

“Y-yes … well …” She shuffled her parchment, avoiding the eyes of all three men. Finally, she sucked in a deep breath and said, “Mr. Malfoy, your father is a Death Eater, is he not?”

“I will not answer questions about my father.” Harry realized he hadn’t seen that angry fire in the Slytherin’s eyes in a long while, and he was glad it wasn’t directed at him.

“Sorry,” Rita said with a sickly sweet smile. “Mr. Malfoy, are you a Death Eater?”

“I am not.”

“Are you supporting ‘You-Know-Who’ or Dumbledore?”

“You don’t have to answer that,” Harry said before Malfoy could answer. The Slytherin leaned forward to glare at Harry around Remus.

“Shut up, Potter.” He sighed and looked Rita in the eye. “I’ve decided it’s in my best interests to avoid all discussions of politics at this time in my life. Including with Potter. We never discuss my political views, or his, for that matter, and that’s the way we’re going to keep it.”

“But don’t friends discuss, even debate things like that?” Rita asked without missing a beat.

“We are not friends,” Draco said in a firm tone, enunciating every word as if he wanted to be sure there was no misunderstanding. “We have a mutually beneficial arrangement. I help him with Potions, he’s teaching me the Patronus charm, we fly together to improve our Seeker skills. It’s a business arrangement – nothing more.” Harry had to suppress a grin when he realized that Malfoy had left out the part about Harry’s presence helping him get the attention of certain girls.

“A business arrangement,” Rita repeated in a tone that was clearly sceptical, raising her eyebrows. “You expect me to believe that two teenage boys have a business arrangement?”

“What – did you expect me to say I’m madly in love with him? I don’t even like him. I tolerate him because it’s in my best interests,” said Malfoy with a shrug, his face a mask of indifference.

“Ta, Malfoy,” Harry said in a sarcastic tone.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Harry,” Rita said, switching focus seamlessly, “aren’t you afraid that someday it will be in Draco’s best interests to turn you over to ‘You-Know-Who’?”

Harry glanced at Malfoy, noting his face had not moved at all, but anger was burning in his eyes again. He looked into Rita’s eyes and said, “You know, that’s the thing I don’t understand. Everyone assumes Voldemort wants to kill me.” He ignored Rita’s expression of alarm at his mention of the name and continued. “It’s stupid. I’m just a sixteen-year-old kid. Why would he bother with me?”

“So you don’t believe ‘You-Know-Who’ is after you,” Rita said dubiously.

“I think it’s ridiculous,” Harry confirmed.

“Why? Do you have different information, Ms. Skeeter?” asked Remus, leaning forward slightly. “I need to know if Harry is in any danger.”

Rita’s eyes widened and she pressed herself against the back of her chair. “Of course I don’t!” she said emphatically. “Where would I get information about ‘You-Know-Who’?” She scooted her chair back from the table and gathered her parchment and quill. “I think we’re finished here,” she said, her tone changing to brisk. “I need to go if I’m going to meet the deadline for tomorrow’s edition.” She bustled out the door quickly without a backward glance. Remus locked the door behind her and recast the silencing charm.

“I hate to admit it, but I’m impressed with you Gryffindors,” said Malfoy, nodding. “That performance was worthy of a Slytherin.”

“No need to be insulting, Malfoy,” Harry retorted.

“You know that article is going to be more about you than me, don’t you, Lupin?” Malfoy said, ignoring Harry.

“Yes,” Remus answered with a shrug, “but that was the point – to take the focus off of you and Harry, and I think we accomplished that.”

A worrisome thought occurred to Harry. “Won’t the Ministry try to take me away from you?”

“Of course,” said Remus brightly, “but it will take months, and by the time they get through all the legal hassle, you’ll be seventeen.”

Harry’s eyes widened at the realization that he would be a legal adult in less than five months. “And then I won’t need a guardian,” he said in a voice that was almost a whisper.

Remus smiled at him a little sadly as he picked up the recording box. “I’d better get this to Dumbledore for safekeeping,” he said. “I’ll see you later, Harry.”

Harry mumbled a goodbye to Remus, and then turned to Malfoy as soon as the door was closed. “You know, it is a little odd that we never discuss the war. Which side are you on, anyway?”

The Slytherin’s eyes narrowed. “You heard what I said to Skeeter. My answers, unlike yours, were completely factual. It is not in my best interests to discuss politics with you.”

“I’m tired of people calling it ‘politics’,” Harry said, beginning to get angry. “People are dying – this is a war.”

“I don’t owe you anything, Potter,” said Malfoy, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

Harry couldn’t help a small grin at the irony in that statement; just two months ago he was insisting that he did owe Harry. “Glad you finally figured that out.”

Malfoy’s eyes hardened in anger and his cheeks began to redden. “Look,” he spat, “there’s really nothing to tell. I am on my own side. I will do whatever is in my best interests.”

“I’m getting sick of hearing about your best interests. Don’t you have a conscience, Malfoy?” Harry asked with a mixture of curiosity and exasperation.

“Having a conscience will get you killed,” said Malfoy. Harry simply stared at him in disbelief. After a moment, Malfoy continued. “Look, let’s talk about you for a moment, shall we? I heard what you told Skeeter, but I don’t buy it. You do believe the Dark Lord is after you. Would you like to talk about that?”

Harry was silent, trying frantically to decide what to say. He knew he couldn’t trust the Slytherin with the truth, but denying it obviously wouldn’t do any good. After a moment, Malfoy spoke again. “I didn’t think so. You don’t ask me, I won’t ask you. Let’s just stick to what we told Skeeter – it works best for both of us.”

Harry swallowed, nodded at Malfoy, and rose to leave. As he opened the door, Malfoy said, “Quidditch later? Half past six?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a small grin, and hurried to dinner.

************************************************

As Malfoy predicted and Remus intended, Rita Skeeter’s article focused almost solely on the fact that Harry’s legal guardian was a werewolf. Harry’s relationship with the Slytherin was mentioned only briefly at the end where Malfoy’s description of it was quoted surprisingly accurately. Harry was torn between relief that the speculation about he and Malfoy was dying down and anger that yet someone else had been made to suffer for his sake.

“She made it sound like you got sacked from teaching here, and that you were arrested for criminal activity last fall! You shouldn’t have sacrificed your reputation for me! It’s NOT FAIR!” Harry’s voice grew louder and louder as he paced Remus’s sitting room.

“It wasn’t much of a sacrifice Harry – werewolves don’t get the luxury of a good reputation.”

“Still…” Harry shouted, his footsteps accelerating. “I don’t have to like it!”

“Look,” Remus said, stepping in front of Harry and putting his hands on his shoulders to stop him. “You’re giving up a normal childhood in order to defeat a maniac. Any sacrifice I make is tiny in comparison.”

Harry nodded, but the words didn’t abate his frustration. Fortunately, most of the students remembered and had liked Remus as a teacher, therefore the speculation and gossip from the article was, for the most part, not malicious. Another small boon was that Rita had apparently not realized that Remus was living at Hogwarts.

When Harry went to his next Occlumency lesson, Professor Snape seemed overjoyed that he had something new to taunt him about. Harry was usually able to ignore him, but still had the occasional lapse.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for that image of me with my head separated from my body!”

“Professor,” Harry said, biting back his anger and trying his best to sound meek, “you can’t take away points for thoughts, can you?”

“If they involve my imminent demise, I think I am well within my rights,” the Potions Master answered in a low, dangerous voice. “Besides, by now, you should have developed the skill to prevent me from seeing those thoughts. I can only conclude that you intended for me to see the image, which is equivalent to deliberate insolence. In fact,” Snape’s mouth curled into a sneer, “I believe my logic justifies making it twenty points.” Harry swallowed his anger, determined not to lose any more points. He couldn’t help feeling glad that Snape had apparently never looked at his thoughts during Potions; if he had, Gryffindor would have never won the house cup.

“We will try something new tonight,” Snape continued in a brisk tone. “You will learn to put false images in your head for your attacker to see. You will practice by visualizing three different images. Two will be true, and one will be false. I will deduce which is the false image. Begin with something simple, like what you had to eat today.”

Harry thought for a moment and then nodded to indicate he was ready. “Legilimens!” Snape said softly, pointing his wand at Harry’s head. Harry focused his mind first on the eggs and toast he had for breakfast, then the baked chicken and scalloped potatoes he had for lunch, and then created an image of Mrs. Weasley’s excellent beef stew for his dinner.

Snape broke the spell abruptly and said, “No, you idiot! I know we didn’t have beef stew for dinner. I was there! You have to keep in mind the attacker’s knowledge. What is he likely to believe? What will ring true to him? What will he immediately know is a lie?” Snape paused and drew in a deep breath, presumably to calm himself. He continued in a softer tone, “Do it again. Try to make me believe you ate something that you didn’t, but make it something that was actually served. Always keep your lies as close to the truth as possible.”

Harry kept trying, partially to prove he wasn’t an idiot, but also because he knew mastering Occlumency was a must if he was going to defeat Voldemort. He failed to fool the professor, however, because there was always more emotion associated with the true memories than the false ones. Snape berated him once again for failing to control his emotions, and when Harry finally slunk out of the dungeons towards Remus’s rooms, he was wondering despondently if he was going to have to become cold and emotionless like the Potions Master.

The walk to his guardian’s rooms seemed longer than usual, as if he had to drag along his abnormally heavy heart. After an hour with Remus, however, he felt lighter and was in a relatively good mood as he climbed the stairs to the seventh floor.

Harry heard voices as he approached the portrait hole and instinctively ducked into the shadows when he recognized Ginny’s giggle. He was still avoiding her as much as possible and contemplated escaping back to Remus’s rooms, but froze when he saw a boy wrap his arms around her waist. It wasn’t Summerby; Ron had mentioned a few days before that Ginny and the Hufflepuff Seeker had broken up. Ron’s tone had been casual but his expression searching, almost as if he knew Harry would be interested. Harry had tried to ignore the information since he knew Ginny only thought of him as a seventh brother and didn’t want to risk the humiliation of making his feelings known.

He recognized the boy currently embracing Ginny as soon as he spoke. “Just a little kiss, Ginny?” Zabini begged as he leaned in.

Ginny leaned backward, away from Zabini, but didn’t struggle against the embrace. Harry stopped breathing as he waited to see what she would do. “I haven’t even said I’d go out with you yet, Blaise,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“Ah – yet, you say. But you will agree.”

“We’ll see,” she said, leaning back a little further, her expression both flattered and annoyed. Harry willed her to say no with all his might. He knew it wasn’t fair, but if she didn’t want him, he didn’t want her to be with anyone else.

“Please give me one tiny kiss to remember you by, Ginny.” Zabini probably thought he sounded romantic, but Harry was sure the plaintive tone was false.

“You’ll see me tomorrow,” said Ginny, and Harry could see by the softening expression in her eyes that she was going to give in.

“Yes, but it will seem like an eternity before I can gaze upon your lovely face again,” Zabini said. “At least if I have a small remembrance I can comfort myself in dreams of you.” Harry almost had to stifle a gag. He sincerely hoped Ginny would see through the pretty words, and was a little heartened to see her roll her eyes.

“Fine,” she said. Harry wanted to close his eyes against the scene, but his lids wouldn’t cooperate, as if he were compelled to watch. “If it means so much to you, one tiny kiss.” She quickly touched her lips to the bridge of his nose as she twisted out of his embrace and whispered something to the Fat Lady. “Goodnight,” she said with an impish smile, and disappeared behind the portrait.

As Zabini turned to walk away, Harry saw his self-satisfied smile and wanted to hex him, but forced himself to push the thought aside. It would serve no purpose for him to hex every boy Ginny dated, except to confirm that he was just like Ron, an older brother. Nevertheless, he fingered the wand in his pocket as he walked to meet the Slytherin, and watched Zabini’s expression change to amusement. “Spare me the ‘big brother’ talk, will you?” His mouth was smiling, but his eyes hardened and narrowed, presumably in response to Harry’s angry expression.

“I’m not her brother,” Harry spat vehemently.

Zabini’s eyes widened as if with dawning comprehension, and the smile changed to a smirk as he said, “Sorry – I must have gotten that impression from Ginny.”

Harry felt his face growing hot; the desire to escape to his dormitory suddenly became much stronger than the desire to hex Zabini, and he started to move past him toward the portrait hole. Just as he was about to give the password to the Fat Lady, the Slytherin spoke again.

“Tell me something, Potter. Is it true what it said in the Prophet about you and Malfoy?”

Harry warred within himself for a moment, but curiosity won over his desire to get away from Zabini. He finally sighed and turned back toward the other boy, searching his face for a motive. “Yeah. Why?”

“Just curious,” Zabini answered with a shrug. “It’s pretty hard to believe you and Malfoy never talk about the war.”

“We don’t,” Harry said with his own shrug, watching the other boy closely. The Slytherin had a casual stance and expression, but his eyes were intense, as if trying to determine whether Harry was lying. “I asked him about his loyalties once, but he wouldn’t answer me.”

Zabini nodded slightly, eyes still trying to penetrate Harry. As Harry thought furiously, trying to decide why this Slytherin would be so interested in Malfoy when all the others had rejected him, another thought occurred to him. Zabini turned to leave, but Harry stopped him with a question of his own. “Are they still pounding him down there?”

The eyes that turned back to Harry were deeply suspicious. “Told you that, did he?”

“No,” Harry answered quickly. “In fact, he lied and said he fell or some such nonsense.”

Zabini gave Harry another long look, and Harry wished fervently that he could read the other boy’s motives. Finally, he said, “You really need to stay out of Slytherin House matters, Potter,” and turned to leave again.

“He could really use an ally in his own House,” Harry said to the retreating back, raising his voice slightly to be sure Zabini could hear him.

Zabini stopped and looked over his shoulder. “An ally?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“Slytherins don’t have friends,” Harry said, quoting something Malfoy had told him months earlier.

A glint of recognition registered in Zabini’s eyes. He nodded, turned, and walked away.

*************************************

Author’s notes: “Always keep your lies as close to the truth as possible.” This line from Snape is taken almost directly from Ginnysdarkside’s “Some Days I Wish I Were In Slytherin.” I know I’m not being terribly original here, but I thought that line was great, and it really stuck in my mind, and it was perfect here.

I’m going to participate in National Novel Writing Month in November.

http://www.nanowrimo.org/index.php

I’m planning to write the sequel to ACOTS, even though it won’t be finished yet! I’ll try to get chapter 18 out before then, but there probably won’t be a chapter posted in November. Please don’t abandon me – I WILL finish this story. (I guess I’ll have to if I’m writing a sequel, won’t I?) The sequel will, of course, be posted after ACOTS is finished, since that’s the natural order of things.


	18. Coquetry and Qualms

"Though one may be overpowered,  
two can defend themselves.  
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken."  
Ecclesiastes 4:12

The majority of the older students remained at Hogwarts during the Easter Holidays since most of their homework required reference books from the library. Harry's homework assignments were actually quite reasonable, and he was able to spend part of every day on his Firebolt, sometimes with Ron and sometimes with Malfoy. Hermione, however, spent a portion of each day pouring over charts and tables for Arithmancy.

"Glad I'm not taking that," Ron said, inclining his head toward Hermione, who sat mumbling to herself with her fingers entwined in her hair.

"Me too," Harry agreed, laying his Firebolt on the floor and flopping onto the sofa beside Ron.

Hermione looked up when Harry spoke, but it took a few seconds for her glazed eyes to focus on him. "For your information," she said, turning to glare at Ron, "this isn't homework. I'm helping Professor Vector with a project." She turned her eyes to Harry, and her tone became more tentative. "Did you have fun with Malfoy?"

Harry shrugged, unwilling to show too much enthusiasm for his scrimmages with the Slytherin. His friends were still suspicious, and he found himself wishing that Ron and Malfoy could put aside their differences long enough for the three of them to have a flying session together.

"I don't like it," said Ron, scowling at Harry. "Our next match is against Slytherin. He'll know all your best moves. What if he beats you?"

"He won't," Harry said without hesitation. "I'm still better than him. Besides, he's taking the same risk. I watch him very carefully."

"I still don't like it," Ron said. "He's a Slytherin. He'll find a way to use this to his advantage."

"It's working to my advantage," Harry said with a shrug. "These practices are really improving my flying."

"Not much room for improvement, if you ask me," said a voice behind Harry. He twisted around on the sofa, a little startled, and looked into the warm brown eyes of Ginny Weasley, which were gazing at him with an unfamiliar expression.

Harry was suddenly very aware that he was sweaty and dirty from practice. He tore his eyes from Ginny's, grabbed his Firebolt, stammered something about taking a shower, and escaped up the stairs, silently berating himself for acting like such an idiot.

She had only complimented him on his flying. Why couldn't he just thank her? Why did he always have to run out of the room? What was he afraid of? Lately it seemed that he was more frightened of Ginny than of Voldemort himself. It made no sense; she was just a girl.

No, she wasn't just a girl. She was a beautiful girl, an intelligent girl, a magically powerful girl, a girl he wanted to … No. She was Ron's sister, and he was practically a Weasley. She might as well be his sister, dammit!

Harry turned on the water in the shower and stood under the hot spray, trying to wash away his thoughts of Ginny along with the grime from the Quidditch pitch. He soaped his body and hair mechanically as he struggled to clear his mind, trying to memorize the patterns in the tiles on the wall.

"You okay, mate?" said Ron's voice from the door of the bathroom, startling Harry from his morose thoughts. He turned off the water, grabbed his towel, and stepped out of the shower.

"Yeah," he said as he dried himself, unwilling to meet his friend's eyes. "Much better now that I've had a shower."

Ron grimaced in a way that suggested he was struggling within himself, as if trying to decide whether to say something. He avoided looking at Harry and finally focused his eyes on the far wall. "You've been acting - weird around Ginny lately."

"I have?" Harry gasped, panic filling his stomach. If Ron had noticed, how many others had? This stupid crush on Ginny could be very humiliating.

Ron stared at him for a long moment. Harry pretended not to notice as he rubbed his hair dry, but he could feel his friend's eyes burning into his skull. Finally, Ron quietly said, "I think you should talk to her."

"I talk to her all the time," Harry said, knowing quite well it was a lie and avoiding Ron's gaze because of it. He wrapped the towel around his waist and headed back into the dormitory.

"I think she likes you, mate."

Harry sighed, wondering if he should tell Ron about Zabini. No, Ginny wouldn't thank him for that; Ron would only get angry and give her a hard time. He couldn't even tell Ron that Ginny liked someone else, since Ron would certainly demand to know who. "No," he said, slowly turning to face his best friend, trying frantically to think of what to say even as he spoke. "She … got over me … a long time ago." He couldn't hide the defeated tone in his voice.

"I don't believe that," Ron said, shaking his head. "I think if you just …"

"Just drop it!" spat Harry. "I know it would be really convenient for you if your sister and I got together, but it's not going to happen. So leave me alone about it."

Ron's eyes widened in shock, as if he couldn't believe Harry would say such a thing. Harry ignored the little voice in his head that told him he was being unfair and turned away to rummage in his trunk for clean clothes. After a moment, Ron's voice, sounding strangely low and dangerous, said, "Forgive me for wanting to see you happy. I guess I shouldn't bother."

He turned back just in time to see the door slam shut behind Ron. Furious with himself, Harry slammed the lid of his trunk and jerked his clothes on. He had been taking Occlumency for over a year, and he couldn't even manage to hide his feelings for Ginny! How could he when his waking thoughts were dominated by her voice, her scent, her face? He loved her freckles, and sometimes he dreamed of kissing each of them in turn.

Harry shook his head as if the motion would free him from his traitorous thoughts as he finished dressing. It took a supreme effort, but he managed to calm himself and resolved to focus on clearing his mind whenever he thought he might see Ginny. In the meantime, his first priority was to repair the damage to his closest friendship.

Ron and Hermione were sitting side by side on the sofa, apparently engrossed in their whispered conversation. Harry realized they were probably talking about him, but he swallowed his annoyance and forced himself to walk right up to them. He took a deep breath and said, "Fancy a game of chess, Ron?"

They both seemed a little startled, as if they had been so absorbed in their tête-à-tête that they didn't hear him approach. "Sure," said Ron after a moment. He gave Harry a small smile before summoning his chess board. Hermione bowed her head, but Harry still caught her grin, and he couldn't keep his face from imitating hers.

**********************************************

Harry had completed his Potions essay during the Easter holidays, but he went to the library on Monday evening out of habit. There was no reason why he shouldn't get a head start on the homework that was assigned earlier in the day. Malfoy was already sitting at their usual table, pretending to study, but actually eyeing the Ravenclaw girls a few tables away.

"Hand it over," Malfoy said in a resigned tone as Harry sat down.

"What?"

"Snape knows I'm helping you in Potions - I can't let you turn in a substandard essay," said the Slytherin, holding out his hand. He was talking to Harry, but he was looking at Su Li and Lisa Turpin, who had their heads close together as if whispering. Harry dug the parchment out of his bag and handed it to Malfoy without a word. Malfoy seemed reluctant to tear his eyes away from the girls, but read Harry's essay with a frown. "This is at least six inches too short, Potter, and you've reversed bicorn horn and boomslang skin," he said, shoving the parchment back toward Harry.

"Ta," said Harry sarcastically, feeling both grateful for the help and irritated at Malfoy's superior tone. He sighed, supposing Malfoy's attitude was easier to deal with than Snape's, and used his wand to erase his mistakes.

"Whenever I have an essay that's a little too short, I write something about what can or can't be added to make the potion taste or smell better," Malfoy said, his gaze wandering back to the girls. "Snape seems to like that - says I'm going beyond the requirements or some such nonsense."

Harry stared at the Slytherin in disbelief. Malfoy had never helped him this much before. After a few moments, Malfoy looked at him and scowled. "Get over it," he said in a quiet voice. "It's not like I'm going to tell you the answer - you still have to go look it up. In fact …" he glanced over at the girls and lowered his voice further, "… it would be really helpful to me if you … yes, she's coming over here … in a few minutes, I need you to go find a book, okay?"

"What?" Harry said stupidly, but Malfoy only shushed him as Lisa Turpin came into hearing range. Harry struggled to refrain from rolling his eyes as Malfoy put on what he probably thought was his most charming smile and greeted Lisa warmly.

"Harry. Draco." She greeted them both with a nod and turned to Harry, but Malfoy spoke as she opened her mouth.

"Please, have a seat," he said, gesturing widely toward the chair next to him. Her cheeks turned slightly pink as she sat. She glanced over at Su Li, who was still at the other table. Harry followed her eyes and watched as Su nodded her head and widened her eyes as if to tell Lisa to go ahead with something.

"Harry," said Lisa in a quiet tone that might have been shy, "Su and I have a question about the Defence essay. Will you help us?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Malfoy spoke before he could make a sound. "He needs to finish his Potions essay first, don't you, Potter?" He shot Harry a glare, but Lisa had her eyes on Harry and didn't notice. "In fact," Malfoy continued, leaning toward Lisa and so that their shoulders touched, forcing her to turn her attention to him, "he was just telling me that he's going to look for a book."

"Er - yeah, I was," Harry stammered as he left the table.

Harry browsed idly through the books as he kept an eye on Malfoy and Lisa. As she talked, Malfoy kept a charming smile on his lips, but his eyes narrowed as though he was annoyed. After a few moments, however, his expression relaxed, and by the time Lisa stood to leave, he looked extremely satisfied about something. Harry hurried over to the table, totally forgetting that he was supposed to be looking for a book. "Do I have your permission to sit down?" he asked Malfoy in a tone that he hoped was dripping with sarcasm. He sat before Malfoy had time to answer.

"So, do you like Su Li?" Malfoy asked.

"What?" Harry said, completely baffled.

Malfoy gave a dramatic sigh. "Could you possibly be any more dense? All Turpin wanted to talk about was you. I was just about to tell her to bugger off, but then I realized that it's Li who likes you. I'm supposed to find out if you like her and tell Turpin. The good news is that she's meeting me by the lake later tonight to talk about it."

Harry stared at Malfoy for a moment, trying frantically to process this information. "You're going on a date with Lisa Turpin to talk about me?"

"She's a pure-blood, she's not bad to look at, and I might get a decent snog, maybe more," Malfoy said with a shrug, reminding Harry of why he was a Slytherin. "So, do you like Su Li?"

Harry glanced over at the girls, who were gathering their things to leave. Su looked up, saw Harry watching, blushed rather prettily, and hurried out of the library. He turned back to Malfoy and sighed. "No."

"No?" Malfoy repeated, raising his eyebrows. "Don't you know an easy snog when you see one? I'm sure we could find you a nice spot by the lake, too. Come on - I know you haven't been seeing anyone since you broke it off with Looney Lovegood."

"How did you know about that?"

"What? You thought it was a secret?" Malfoy asked incredulously. Harry nodded, feeling stupid. Did everyone in the school know about his love life? "What did you see in her, anyway? She's so … loony."

"She's nice," said Harry, feeling a little defensive.

"Nice? She's weird! She must have been a really good snog, huh?"

Harry felt himself squirming uncomfortably; Malfoy was a little too close to the truth. A flash of red near the door provided a distraction, and his mind went completely blank as Ginny and Luna walked into the library, giggling quietly. Ginny's lovely brown eyes were sparkling and her hair glistened as she tossed her head in mirth. She caught sight of Harry and smiled a happy carefree smile that seemed to force Harry to return it. After a moment he realized he was blushing and grinning stupidly so he quickly turned back to Malfoy, who was giving him a knowing look.

"I thought you were still mooning over Lovegood until the baby Weasley smiled at you. How long have you had a thing for her?"

Harry shook his head to clear it, but to his chagrin, his blush only grew deeper. "I don't have a 'thing' for Ginny," he protested.

"Don't deny it," Malfoy said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You want her. You looked hungrier than Hagrid at the Halloween feast."

That comment made Harry slightly angry; it seemed as if Malfoy was thinking of Ginny as an object. "Even if I did," he said, shoving his things violently back into his bag, "it wouldn't matter. She's going out with Zabini."

"Zabini? Really? He hasn't mentioned her," said Malfoy. Harry froze, torn between feeling horrified that he had given that piece of information to Malfoy and curious about his relationship with Zabini.

"What - you two are mates now?" Harry said, his curiosity winning out.

"We've played chess a couple of times," Malfoy said with a shrug. "I wouldn't call him a mate."

Harry nodded, wondering if he should be glad or nervous that Zabini appeared to be reaching out to Malfoy. He finally decided it was really none of his business and turned the conversation back to Ginny. "I've only seen them together once, so I'm betting she's trying to hide it from Ron. So keep your mouth shut about it."

Malfoy leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head, regarding Harry with a calculating look that was worrisome. "You expect me to refrain from telling Ron that his baby sister is snogging a Slytherin? The look on his face would be priceless. If you want that, you're going to have to do something for me in return."

Harry leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. "You refrain from telling Ron and I'll refrain from hexing you."

"You're almost scaring me," Malfoy said with a laugh, "but not quite. Look, I'm not asking for much. Just give me something more interesting to tell Turpin than, 'no, he's not interested'."

"I can't."

"Sure you can. Do you think Li's pretty? I know she's not a pure-blood, but she's still not bad to look at."

Harry thought about that. He couldn't help comparing her dark, exotic features to Cho, which gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. As if reading his thoughts, Malfoy continued, "She's not nearly as pretty as Chang was, but not many girls are. I can't believe she ever went out with you, but I guess many are enamoured by the charms of the 'Boy Who Lived'."

Before he even realized what he was doing, Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at Malfoy's throat. "Don't ever talk to me about Cho again!" he said rather loudly, causing many other students to turn their heads to stare at them.

A number of emotions flickered through Malfoy's eyes: anger, fear, sadness, realization, and finally an expression Harry didn't recognize. After staring at Harry for several seconds, Malfoy drawled, "I won't. Put your wand away."

Harry remained frozen, his guilt and anger about the Hogsmeade attack and Cho's death, long suppressed, boiling to the surface again. His wand hand began to shake. He took several deep breaths and tried unsuccessfully to clear his mind, barely conscious of the boy sitting across from him. "You know," Malfoy said, "this is a good way to squash the rumours that we're best mates." His voice seemed to wake Harry up from a trance, and he forced his eyes to focus on the Slytherin's face. Suddenly, he recognized the look in Malfoy's eyes. It was remorse. Harry had never seen Malfoy express remorse before. As he wondered about this, his hand stopped shaking and the violent emotions began to recede.

"Will it help if I apologize?" Malfoy asked very quietly, as if not wanting to be overheard. Harry suddenly realized that he was still pointing his wand at Malfoy's throat, everyone was staring, and Madam Pince was headed towards their table. Feeling very stupid, he put his wand away, grabbed his bag, and escaped from the library as quickly as he could.

*************************************

"Lavender told me you almost hexed Malfoy in the library last night," Hermione said as Harry sat down across from her at breakfast the next morning. "What happened, Harry?"

"What did he do?" Ron demanded as he took the seat next to Hermione, his ears reddening.

Harry felt a bit like he was being interrogated as he sat across from his best friends with both sets of eyes boring into him, but he forced down his annoyance. After he had left the library, he had spent the better part of an hour in Remus's rooms venting his frustration. Remus had helped him realize that even though the Slytherin had been rather abrasive about Cho and Ginny, he had backed down when he saw that Harry was angry. In fact, Malfoy had come very close to apologizing, and Harry had never heard the Slytherin apologize before. In the light of morning Harry felt a little sheepish about his behaviour in the library, especially since there had been so many witnesses.

"We had a disagreement, and I sort of got carried away." Harry smirked at his friends. "Of course, you two wouldn't know anything about that - I'm always so calm around you." Ron and Hermione stared at him, Hermione with an expression of disbelief, and Ron with his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Seriously, it's okay," Harry said. "And it might help with the rumours about our supposed friendship."

Hermione's eyes continued to intently search his; finally she sighed and said, "Harry, you're growing up."

Harry wasn't sure whether to laugh or be offended. "What a thing to say, Hermione. You're younger than me!"

"Either that or Malfoy has him under Imperius," said Ron with a scowl.

"What's Draco Malfoy doing?" asked Parvati as she sat down beside Harry. Harry looked up as Ron and Hermione turned around.

Malfoy had risen and picked up his book bag, but instead of leaving the Great Hall, he walked around the Slytherin table and strode up the aisle between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables. He stopped next to Lisa Turpin's seat, put a hand on her shoulder, and bent to put his lips close to her ear, apparently whispering something. Harry watched in amazement as a slow smile grew on Lisa's face and a blush stained her cheeks. She turned so that her lips were just inches from Malfoy's and gave him a slight nod. The Slytherin said, "Good," and turned to leave the Great Hall looking extremely satisfied with himself.

"What was that all about?" asked Hermione, turning back to Harry.

"He likes her," Harry said with a shrug. "He told me last night." That wasn't precisely true; Malfoy hadn't said he liked her; he had only expressed interest in kissing her. But he supposed for Malfoy that might be equivalent to true love.

"He probably just needs her for some Death Eater virgin sacrifice," Ron said with a bitter laugh. Parvati snorted in a disparaging manner.

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. Harry actually thought Ron's comment was amusing, but supposed he should refrain from grinning.

"I heard Su Li likes you, Harry," Parvati told him in the slightly whiney voice she always adopted for gossip.

"So I've heard," Harry said with a sigh, wondering why all of Hogwarts seemed to be fascinated with his love life.

"So are you interested?" Parvati asked, leaning forward and looking at him as if her life depended on his answer.

"No," Harry said, shoving a bite of eggs into his mouth so he wouldn't be expected to elaborate.

"Of course he's not," said Hermione in a matter-of-fact voice, as if she were quoting from a book. "If Harry fancied a girl, he would tell her, wouldn't you Harry?" Harry looked up and realized Hermione was giving him a pointed look, as if trying to tell him to do something.

Before he could answer, a book bag dropped heavily into the seat beside him. "You'll never guess what I just saw," said Ginny, grabbing a piece of toast and shoving it into her mouth, reminding Harry of Ron. Harry briefly considered escaping from the Great hall, but was afraid it would appear that he was acting "weird" around Ginny again.

"Ooh - Ginny - you just missed it! Draco Malfoy practically kissed Lisa Turpin in front of the whole school!" Parvati gushed from Harry's other side.

"Nope - mine's better," said Ginny with a smirk. "Mr. Quidditch Captain," she continued, turning her attention to Ron, whose eyes focused on his sister immediately when she mentioned Quidditch. "I think our Beaters might be starting to trust each other a little more. I just saw them snogging in the common room."

"Jack and Stacey?" Ron asked, eyes widening in shock. "Well," he said with a nod, his expression softening so that he looked extremely pleased with himself, "I guess forcing them to get to know each other in the D.A. might not have been such a bad idea." He narrowed his eyes at his sister. "Are you trying to get to know Andrew and Katie better?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and sat down, grabbing another piece of toast. "If you're suggesting I snog Andrew and Katie, you can just go find another Chaser right now, you prat."

"Er … no," stammered Ron, looking both scandalized and disgusted.

"We'd better get to Potions, you two," Hermione said, her voice slightly muffled by the table as she leaned over to retrieve her book bag.

"We've got ages, Hermione," Ron whined, but Harry rose to leave, eager to get away from Ginny before he said something stupid, before he said anything, actually.

"See you, Harry," said Ginny.

Harry froze for a second, but quickly recovered. He forced himself to think about Aunt Petunia's flower garden and turned to Ginny with what he hoped was a smile that was warm, but not too warm. "See you, Ginny," he said, his tone sounding a bit stilted even to his own ears. It couldn't be helped, though; at least he had managed to say something coherent.

Ron talked about Quidditch as the three friends descended to Potions together, but Harry was only half listening. He glanced at his two friends' intertwined hands and found himself savouring an image of himself strolling down the corridor hand-in-hand with Ginny. Harry was still lost in the fantasy when he made his way through the maze of desks and dropped his book bag beside Malfoy's chair. They were early; Malfoy was the room's only occupant.

"I take it you got your snog last night," Harry said quietly to Malfoy as he took his seat.

"No," he answered in a whisper, "but I definitely will tonight." Harry rolled his eyes at the Slytherin's smirk. He leaned over to retrieve his parchment and quill from his bag, and when he straightened up he was surprised to see that Malfoy's expression had drastically changed. The smirk had reversed into a frown and his eyes were full of regret, hurt, and anger. Harry followed his gaze and saw two figures standing very close just outside the classroom door. As he watched, Nott wrapped his arms around Pansy Parkinson's waist and pulled her even closer as his lips touched hers.

Images of Malfoy with Pansy during their fourth and fifth year suddenly filled Harry's mind. He wondered why he had never realized they must have had a romantic relationship; Malfoy apparently still had feelings for the pug-nosed Slytherin. Despite the fact that Malfoy had taunted him the night before about his own romantic interests, Harry didn't feel at all like teasing Malfoy. The pain in Malfoy's expression was raw, as if he had just been recently betrayed, though Harry was certain Malfoy hadn't dated Pansy at all since fifth year.

Malfoy turned his eyes to Harry as if feeling his gaze and his expression slowly changed to defiance, his eyes daring Harry to comment. Harry turned his attention to his parchment, slowly writing the date at the top of the page. When he raised his gaze again, Malfoy had obviously recovered enough to smirk and wink at Lisa as she and Su walked into the classroom. Harry realized he had probably just witnessed the reason for Malfoy's callous attitude toward girls and felt a little encouraged at the knowledge that the Slytherin possessed the capacity to love. He hoped, however, that Malfoy wouldn't hurt anyone else in his quest to distract himself from his own broken heart.

Harry's eyes met Su's as she and Lisa sat at a table near his. He looked away when he realized he was smiling at her, knowing he shouldn't encourage her. Harry understood how painful it was to have unrequited romantic feelings. However, he had learned from his experience with Luna that he couldn't sufficiently distract himself with a different relationship and that the guilt he felt over trying only added to his frustration. It was all well and good for Malfoy, and maybe it would work for him, but Harry wasn't about to start a relationship with Su Li or any other girl when he knew he had feelings for someone else.

Thankfully, Harry's wistful sigh was covered by Snape's entrance into the classroom. He put his melancholy thoughts out of his mind and focused on the day's lesson.

***************************************

Harry crouched behind the makeshift barrier, every one of his senses on the alert. It had been a few minutes since the last hex and the silence was making Harry nervous. He knew it was unwise to risk a peek around the obstruction, but didn't know if he could stand the tension much longer.

As he turned to assure himself that he wasn't being approached from behind, a slight movement to his right caught his eye, and he threw himself to the ground just as a jet of light hurtled through the air above him. Harry rolled quickly around the barrier to put it between himself and his attacker and was immediately hit with the full Body-Bind from the opposite direction.

A deep, soft laugh echoed through the room as Remus's smiling face appeared above him and released him from the spell. "You're getting better," his guardian said proudly.

Harry rubbed his head where it had hit the floor and turned to scowl at Professor Shacklebolt, who was still chuckling. "I don't know how you expect me to defend myself without my wand," Harry complained.

Shacklebolt's expression turned solemn as he handed Harry's wand back. "You never know what situation you might find yourself in. Best to be prepared for anything."

"I know," Harry said in a sullen tone. The professor waved his wand over his head and Harry felt his headache disappear. "Thanks," he said, trying to smile.

"Order meeting in ten minutes," Remus said, looking at his watch. "We'd better get going, Kingsley."

"Can I come?" Harry couldn't keep himself from asking, even though he knew he would be turned down.

Shacklebolt shook his head, but Remus gave him a long, unfathomable look. Finally he spoke very slowly, as if still contemplating the consequences of his decision. "Yes, Harry, let's go. It will save me the trouble of telling you about it later." Professor Shacklebolt gave Remus a disapproving look but didn't say anything.

Harry couldn't believe his luck. Maybe they were finally beginning to treat him as an adult. His excitement mounted as he walked alone to Dumbledore's office. Shacklebolt was taking a different route, and Remus was using the floo from his quarters. It wouldn't do for them to be seen arriving together by the other students, or even the other teachers, since the Order suspected that one of the faculty was a traitor.

As he walked into Dumbledore's office, his excitement faded quickly. Mrs. Weasley's, Snape's, and even Moody's eyes narrowed in anger when they saw him. Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth to speak, but Dumbledore spoke first.

"Ah, Harry. How appropriate that you decided to come tonight since we will be discussing you." Harry felt a rush of gratitude toward the headmaster as he watched Mrs. Weasley close her mouth and relax her eyes. He took the seat next to Remus and waited nervously for the meeting to begin.

As soon as Professor Shacklebolt entered the room, Dumbledore said, "Now that we are all here, we will begin with our plans for Harry's summer." He paused briefly as Shacklebolt took the last empty chair, and then continued. "Harry can no longer stay with his aunt, so I have determined the safest place for him will be the Weasley's home." Harry felt a jolt of happiness that he would be able to spend the summer with his friends, but then a little stab of trepidation when he remembered that he would have to live for two months in Sirius's former residence.

As if reading his mind, Remus leaned over and in a voice that only Harry could hear, said, "You won't even recognize it - Molly and the house-elves have really fixed it up." Harry smiled gratefully at Remus and turned back to listen to Dumbledore.

"I believe it will be safe to let Harry ride the Hogwarts Express to London as long as there are Aurors riding as well."

"That shouldn't be a problem," said Shacklebolt. "Amelia Bones has been very receptive to your suggestions in the past."

"I don't think you should risk exposing the boy for that long a period of time," argued Moody, his good eye on Dumbledore and his magical eye on Harry. "Voldemort could attack the train."

"That would be almost impossible," said Shacklebolt. "No one can Apparate or Portkey onto a moving object. He could only attack at Hogsmeade Station or King's Cross, and we can set up a group of Aurors to escort Harry to and from the train stations." Moody looked only slightly mollified at these reassurances.

"What about Harry's safety here, and that of the other students?" Mrs Weasley asked. "Are the wards still weakening?"

Harry turned his eyes to Dumbledore, examining his face carefully. There were deeper lines on the wizened face, and his eyes looked tired, as if he hadn't been sleeping well. "The wards are holding for now," the headmaster said with a sigh.

"But they're still weakening, aren't they?" said Mr. Weasley. "Do you have any suspects?"

"No," said Dumbledore. "The person is either a gifted Occlumens or is under the Imperius Curse. I also strongly suspect that there are at least two people working on the wards."

This statement was met with gasps and wide eyes. "T-two?" Professor McGonagall stammered. "You believe there are two traitors among the staff?"

If possible, Dumbledore looked even older than he had the minute before. "It is possible. It is also possible that the traitor has enlisted the help of a student."

For some reason, several pairs of eyes turned to Harry. "Any ideas, Potter?" Moody asked sharply.

Harry was startled by the interrogative tone. He managed to stammer, "Er … w-well … th-there's s-several kids who have D-Death Eater parents …"

"What about Malfoy?" Moody barked.

Harry took a deep breath as his mind raced over the possibility. Could Draco Malfoy be a traitor? Wait a minute … traitor wasn't the right word. He wouldn't really be betraying anyone, would he? He had never professed to support either side. Malfoy would actually be betraying most of the people in his life if he chose to support Dumbledore, not if he helped Voldemort.

After a moment, Harry realized he was having difficulty thinking logically about the possibility of Malfoy working for the Death Eaters because it hurt. Traitor was the right word. Harry recognized that even though Malfoy had never given Harry any assurances, he would feel betrayed if Malfoy did anything to support the Dark Lord. He realized in that moment that he considered Malfoy a friend, and that he expected loyalty from the Slytherin, just as he received from his other friends. Was he wrong to expect that? Was Malfoy only using him to get information?

Harry shook his head, both to deny Moody's allegation and to help clear his mind. "No," he said in what he hoped was a firm tone, despite his roiling emotions. He didn't want to express even the slightest suspicion of Malfoy for some reason. An annoying voice in the back of his mind suggested that he didn't want to admit he might have been wrong about Malfoy, but he squashed it firmly.

"I think Harry may be right," piped up a voice next to him, much to his surprise. Remus continued, "I've spent a little time with Draco, and I don't think he intends any harm to Harry."

"He's probably a great actor," growled Moody. "And even if he's not acting, he may not realize that helping the Death Eaters will harm Harry. Rotten to the core - that whole family."

"I don't believe Draco has any love for the Dark Lord," said Snape, speaking for the first time, "but I think he would be likely to put family loyalty above any other alliance."

"Well, we'll just have to make sure Lucius Malfoy stays in Azkaban, won't we?" said Professor Shacklebolt. "Do we have any concerns about security at the prison?"

Harry found his mind drifting as the Order members discussed the mermaid guards at Azkaban, and only vaguely noticed when the topic shifted to the goblins.

"It's only a matter of time until the goblins express their loyalty to You-Know-Who," Bill said in a tight voice. "I would like to advise people to pull their gold out of Gringotts, but that would only accelerate the process. For now, the only way to salvage the situation is to make the goblins think we still trust them. Albus, you've got to convince Fudge to give them some concessions - surely he understands that the goblins could give control of our entire money supply over to You-Know-Who."

"I don't believe the goblins will give up control of anything willingly - to either side," Dumbledore said in a sharp, but oddly comforting tone. "They will be unwilling to put the interests of either side before their own."

"Besides, I think the more pressing issue is the water supply," said Mr. Weasley.

"The protection charms that the mermaids recommended are holding," said Emmaline Vance.

"Water supply?" Harry asked so that only Remus could hear.

"The attack two months ago, when you were in my quarters," Remus answered. "The Death Eaters who were arrested were trying to put something in Hogsmeade's water supply, which Hogwarts uses."

Harry was so shocked at that information that he didn't hear the conclusion of the meeting. Of course, Voldemort's forces hadn't hesitated to attack children before, but this seemed especially heinous.

A few people stood to leave, startling Harry out of his morbid thoughts. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Bill all greeted him warmly. Mrs. Weasley expressed her enthusiasm at having him stay the summer, and Mr. Weasley asked him to pass their greetings along to Ron and Ginny.

As Harry made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, he thought about the Weasley's comments and began to panic slightly. It hadn't occurred to him that he would have to spend the entire summer with Ginny. He wondered how he would be able to refrain from acting "weird" around her for two whole months, and resolved to practice clearing his mind every time he saw her.

Harry took several deep breaths, forcing the panic away and trying to empty his mind before he reached the portrait hole. Another thought occurred to him: the members of the Order had actually asked for his input. Even though he hadn't had much to contribute, he appreciated being treated like an adult. These thoughts, however, turned to disturbing musings about Malfoy possibly helping the Death Eaters, which he immediately tried to put out of his mind.

By the time he arrived at the portrait hole Harry's mind was a jumble of unpleasant thoughts. He took a couple of deep breaths and tried to focus on the parts of the meeting he could share with Ron and Hermione before he gave the Fat Lady the password.

Ron and Hermione were sitting in their favourite chairs by the fireplace, busily scribbling on parchment. When he was close enough to speak to them without anyone overhearing, he said, "Guess what?"

His friends looked up from their homework as Harry pulled a third chair close to theirs. "Your training session went long tonight, didn't it?" Hermione said.

"No," Harry said in a voice just loud enough that they both could hear. "I've been to an Order meeting."

"Cool!" said Ron, looking envious.

"What happened?" asked Hermione eagerly.

"Well, for one thing, Ron, your parents said to tell you and Ginny 'hi'. They couldn't be seen here, of course."

"Cheers, Harry. You need to tell Ginny, too." Before Harry could protest, Ron stood up and called, "Oi! Ginny!" Ginny looked up curiously from the table where she was sitting with some other fifth years. Ron jerked his head sideways, plainly telling her without words to join them. She gave him a look of mild annoyance and came to stand in front of his chair.

"You summoned?" Ginny asked in a sarcastic tone.

"Harry has something to tell you," Ron said.

Ginny turned expectant eyes on Harry, and he found himself wondering what on earth he was supposed to tell her. Oh yes, the greeting from her parents. He could handle that.

"Er … your parents … I … er …" Harry wondered exactly when he had become such an idiot. He took a couple of deep breaths, reminding himself that he was only giving her a greeting from her parents, not asking her to marry him. "Your parents said to tell you 'hi' - and Bill," he finally managed without faltering.

"Oh … well, when did you see them?"

"Just now," said Harry, gaining a little more confidence now that he had actually said something without stammering like an imbecile. "I went to an Order meeting."

"Really?" said Ginny, the envious expression on her face very like Ron's. She turned and settled herself on the arm of Ron's chair, facing Harry. "Tell us everything," she said in a voice that did not expect to be denied.

Harry did not tell them everything. He told them about his summer plans ("Brilliant!" said Ron, punching the air with one fist), the security on the Hogwarts Express, and the problems with the goblins. Dumbledore had made it clear in December not to tell anyone about the weakening wards and the traitor, so he left out that part of the discussion. Besides, he didn't want his friends to have any additional reason to be suspicious of Malfoy.

He finished by telling them about the attempted pollution of the water supply in February, causing Hermione to gasp. "No wonder they kept that out of the papers," she said. "That would have caused a mass panic, and I'll bet most of the parents would have pulled their children out of Hogwarts."

As they continued to speculate about the war, Harry realized that he had said more in Ginny's presence in the past fifteen minutes than in the previous two months combined. If he could just think of her as one of his friends, like Ron and Hermione, maybe the summer wouldn't be so difficult.

**************************************

Harry didn't spend nearly as much time ranting about Snape the following Friday, partly because Snape had been slightly less horrible than usual and partly because he had some questions about Remus's journal. He had been reading the journal a lot recently, sometimes instead of doing homework, because it was a great way to distract himself from his worries about Dumbledore's health, the disintegrating wards, and the possibility of Malfoy being involved.

Harry had distanced himself from the Slytherin over the past several days. He told himself over and over that he was protecting himself from danger, but deep down he knew that he was actually protecting himself from betrayal. A sinking feeling beset his stomach every time he thought about Malfoy helping the Death Eaters, so he avoided all reminders of it, including Malfoy himself.

"I'm glad you've been reading my journal," said Remus, breaking into Harry's reverie. He shook his head and gave a small chuckle. "That's a strange thing to say, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess it is," said Harry, relaxing into a chair beside the fire. He stared into the flames for a moment, his mind racing with questions. Finally, one bobbed to the forefront of his thoughts. "You told me that it took my father and Sirius three years to learn the Animagus transformation, and that they managed it in fifth year. That means they would have started it in second year, but there's no mention of it in your journal until your third year."

Remus nodded, his eyes glazing over slightly as he lifted them to a point above Harry's head. "Yes, that's right," he said slowly, as if remembering the past as he spoke. "They didn't tell me at first - they didn't want me to be disappointed if they failed. But though your father and Sirius were the smartest wizards in our year, I was cleverer in one aspect: research. There's no 'how to' book on the Animagus transformation, no simple instructions. They finally broke down and told me when they realized they needed help with some of the more detailed parts of the spells that weren't included in the textbooks." His eyes lost even more of their focus as they became sad. "James or Sirius probably could have written a book on the subject if one of them had lived long enough, but then, of course, they would have had to explain how they knew it, which might have been a bit uncomfortable."

Harry looked down at his shoes. He had thought Remus would enjoy talking about his friends; he hadn't meant to make him sad. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. Maybe he should just go.

"Harry?" Remus said in a questioning tone, breaking into his musings. He looked up and met his guardian's eyes, which were now clear and focused. "It's nice to remember how happy we were," he said as if reading Harry's mind. "Do you have any more questions?"

Before Harry could answer, there was a tapping on the window. "I think you've got an owl," Harry said unnecessarily.

Remus didn't seem surprised. He crossed quickly to the window, opened it, took the envelope from the owl's beak, and watched it fly off into the night. He shoved the letter in his pocket as he walked back to his chair, but not before Harry caught a glimpse of very familiar handwriting.

"Who's it from?" Harry asked as he narrowed his eyes, trying to identify the neat script he had seen.

To Harry's surprise, Remus shifted awkwardly in his chair. "Your aunt," he said, appearing to avoid Harry's gaze.

"You've been writing Aunt Petunia? Why?"

"I'm in charge of her safety and comfort. I make sure she has everything she needs, like food and such." Remus still looked a bit uncomfortable, and Harry wondered what he wasn't telling him.

"How is she doing? I haven't heard from her at all."

"Okay, I guess. At first she seemed to be shocked beyond grief, but now she's very angry. At least she's feeling emotion now. I think at this stage it helps that Dudley is away at school. It's safer for her to take her anger out on me than on him." Remus said all of this in a warm, concerned voice, further surprising Harry.

Another question occurred to Harry and demanded immediate attention, though he was fearful of the answer. "D-does she … b-blame me?" he asked in a small voice.

"Harry, she's mourning, she's angry."

"Does she?" He stared at his guardian until Remus finally looked him in the eye.

"Yes," he said with a defeated expression. "But she won't always. Someday she'll realize it's not your fault, Harry, because it isn't. You can't blame yourself. You've got more important things to worry about."

A sudden pop caused both Harry and Remus to turn to the fireplace. Harry's momentary feeling of annoyance at the second interruption was overshadowed by déjà vu. Last time he had seen Dumbledore's head in Remus's fireplace, it was because the Floo Network had been attacked.

Professor Dumbledore's head swivelled in the fireplace, his eyes darting around the room, presumably to determine who was present. Harry wondered with dread how Dumbledore could possibly have worse news than before. The headmaster's face looked more ancient than ever and his blue eyes had a dead soulless expression that reminded Harry of someone who had been "kissed" by a dementor. "There has been an attack at the Ministry. The building is burning uncontrollably." The headmaster took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Cornelius Fudge is dead."


	19. Quidditch and Quarrels

Author's Notes: I guess I didn't make it by the end of the year. Actually, this chapter was finished in mid-December, but I had some issues with the ending. I ended up cutting this chapter a little short (believe it or not - it's still pretty long for me) and moving some significant plot to the next chapter. Thanks to all my FIVE beta readers this time. In addition to my two regular ones, Swishandflick and Gianfar, three other people read over this for me and helped me with my issues: Melindaleo, Carfinial, and Lady Jayne Paisley.

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"Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken."  
Ecclesiastes 4:12

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DIGGORY NAMED MINISTER OF MAGIC

The Wizengamot named a new Minister of Magic yesterday. In a surprise move, Amos Diggory will replace Cornelius Fudge, who died in Friday's Death Eater attack at the Ministry.

Amos Diggory has worked for the Ministry of Magic for twenty-three years, both in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which he has headed for two years.

When asked about You-Know-Who, Minister Diggory said, "This Ministry will stand against anyone who threatens the stability of the wizarding world. This threat must be eliminated. All who support You-Know-Who will be exposed and imprisoned."

Minister Diggory's son was killed under questionable circumstances two years ago during the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Minister refused to talk about his son's death, but he seemed to have some concerns about the safety of Hogwarts students. "I would definitely question the judgement of a man whose hiring decisions have caused the injury and death of his students," he said of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. "This administration may need to address the current headmaster's continuing ability to protect the school."

There are, of course, rumours that Dumbledore believes that You-Know-Who is after Harry Potter, trying to finish what he started fifteen years ago. There are also reports that Ministry Aurors have actually been used to protect the Boy Who Lived. Ministry Diggory said, "I will certainly investigate these allegations. If valuable resources are being wasted on protecting a child, it will certainly be stopped. During a time of war, we can't afford to be frivolous. Aurors need to protect everyone, not just those who think they are celebrities."

Many Ministry insiders believed the new Minister would be Amelia Bones. When asked, however, she said, "I've never had any desire to be Minister of Magic, and I refused to let my name be considered. Besides, with You-Know-Who running loose, we don't need some dunderhead running the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. No, I'm needed right where I am."

 

Harry had been stewing about the article in the Daily Prophet all day. He tried desperately to tune out Ron and Hermione's debates and speculation about the new Minister of Magic since they only caused him more annoyance. His friends finally gave up trying to include him, and he could see them whispering intently to each other when he crossed the common room to go to his defence lesson with Professor Shacklebolt.

Harry's anger toward the new Minister rose in his chest as he descended the stairs. He knew Ron and Hermione assumed that he objected to the Minister's comments about his protection, but what really made him angry was Diggory's attitude toward Dumbledore. It was obvious that the new Minister blamed Dumbledore for Cedric's death, which Harry thought was unfair. Harry knew very well that the headmaster was literally dying to protect the students, and it irked him that Diggory didn't appreciate that.

As Harry approached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, the door opened and Blaise Zabini walked out with a nervous expression on his face. His eyes narrowed and his mouth turned up into a smirk as soon as he saw Harry.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

"I could ask you the same thing," said Harry a little bitterly, remembering Ginny. "I have business here since I'm Shacklebolt's assistant."

"Well, your business is yours, and my business is mine, Potter," said Zabini, taking a step back. "Good night." He walked around Harry and headed toward the dungeons.

Harry rolled his eyes at Zabini's back and headed into the classroom, but he was surprised to see the professor walking toward him in his cloak, as if he was leaving.

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Shacklebolt as he approached. "I have to leave for a little while. Maybe Remus …"

"Full Moon," Harry interrupted.

"Right, well, I'm sorry. I have to go."

"Auror or Order?" Harry murmured as Shacklebolt moved to pass him.

The professor's eyes darted nervously toward the door and he said, "I can't tell you that, Harry." He hurried to the door and disappeared.

Harry looked around as if hoping someone would materialize out of thin air to conduct his training. He had been looking forward to taking out some of his frustrations in mock combat. Without thinking, he pulled out his wand and twirled it in his fingers, wondering if he had the skill required to repair the desks he felt like smashing.

After a few minutes of struggling to cool his boiling emotions, Harry decided to get his broom and try to release his anger by flying, but far away from the Quidditch pitch, where the Slytherins were practicing. He hurried upstairs to Gryffindor Tower and managed to cross the common room without attracting the attention of Ron or Hermione; he was in no mood to be questioned. His luck ran out, however, as he descended from the dormitory with his Firebolt and his cloak.

"Oi, Harry!" called Ron. Harry sighed and walked over to him; he had no doubt his friend would follow him if he didn't answer, and he couldn't explain his presence in the common room so that everyone could hear.

"I thought you had defence lessons," said Hermione, only briefly glancing up from the parchment she was scribbling on.

"Looks like you're skiving and going flying with Malfoy again," said Ron with an accusing glare.

"I'm SICK of hearing about Malfoy!" Harry hadn't meant to shout, but it seemed as if something in him had broken and allowed his anger to bubble up to the surface uncontrolled. "I DON'T NEED YOU TWO BABYSITTING ME! What I do is my own business - NOT YOURS! So BUGGER OFF!"

Tears sprang to his eyes as he climbed through the portrait hole. He knew he had been grossly unfair to his friends, but he just couldn't stand it any more. Minister Diggory disregarding Dumbledore's commitment to Hogwarts, everyone whispering and pointing at him after the article came out, Malfoy possibly being a spy, and even his crush on Ginny: he felt that if anything else happened he would literally explode, and Voldemort would no longer have to worry about the prophecy.

"Harry!"

His heart froze and his stomach clenched. If he ignored her, maybe she would go away. He quickened his pace, practically running down the stairs.

"HARRY!"

Three more flights of stairs and he would reach the entrance hall. He ran a little faster, his Firebolt bouncing on his shoulder.

"HARRY! YOU STOP THIS INSTANT!"

She sounded so much like Mrs. Weasley that he stopped in surprise and turned, allowing her to catch up. "Harry James Potter, you are the most selfish, egotistical bastard I have ever met!" His anger suddenly evaporated, leaving a cold hard stone in his stomach and a pebble lodged in his throat. "Ron and Hermione care about you so much - what is your problem? They didn't have time to provoke you - you had only been standing there a few seconds! How dare you talk to them like that! You need them, but you certainly don't deserve them!"

Suddenly flying wasn't appealing at all; nothing was. Harry wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and pour his anguish into his pillow. All that mattered was that Ginny hated him, and he didn't think he could stand it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, looking down at the ground and blinking furiously. He tried unsuccessfully to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Everything is NOT about you, Harry Potter!" said Ginny.

Harry felt a small spark of anger, but forced it down, realizing that Ginny didn't know. "I wish that were true," he said, chancing a look at her. Her face was flushed with anger, but her eyes looked confused.

"So now you're starting to believe your own press? I'm disappointed, Harry. I thought you were above that." She searched his face for a moment, then rolled her eyes and turned to go.

He couldn't stand to let her walk away thinking such horrible things about him. He couldn't stand for her to hate him. "Ginny," he said quietly, catching her hand to prevent her from leaving. She glanced at their joined hands, but did not pull away. "I - I have to … Remember the prophecy?"

She glanced around, presumably to ensure no one was in earshot, and took a step closer, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. "The one in the Department of Mysteries? It was destroyed."

"Yeah," he said, lowering his voice to almost a whisper, "but Dumbledore is the one who originally heard it. It says I have to kill Voldemort or be killed by him. I'm the only one who can."

He watched as her expression changed from confusion to horror, and then softened into sympathy. "Oh Harry!" she said as she flung her arms around him. He encircled her waist with his free arm and held her as she murmured into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Harry - I didn't know."

"I know - it's okay," he said into her hair. His heart soared with the bliss of holding her, and he completely forgot why he had been upset a few moments ago.

After several moments she drew back, tears shining in her eyes. "You don't have to do it alone, Harry," she whispered. "Let us … Let your friends help you."

A lone tear trickled down the side of her face, and Harry lifted his hand from her waist and brushed it off with his thumb, very touched by the depth of caring in her eyes. He settled his hand on her shoulder, gently cupping the side of her neck with his fingers. All awkwardness and nervousness were gone; all he could think about was how beautiful she was and how soft her lips looked. He lowered his head slightly and paused to gauge her reaction, but her eyes were sparkling with invitation. His eyelids fluttered shut of their own accord as he lowered his head further…

"There you are, Potter! Just the man I wanted to talk to." Harry's hand automatically went to the wand in his pocket as he let go of Ginny and turned toward Malfoy.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" said Harry, more than a little annoyed at being interrupted. Was it possible that Ginny actually liked him? He realized he might never know as she threw an angry glance at Malfoy and hurried up the stairs.

Harry began to follow but Malfoy said, "Let her go, Potter - you can snog her later. We need to talk."

"About what?"

"About the fact that you've been avoiding me all week."

"You're imagining things," Harry said, but his voice sounded unconvincing even to himself. He turned to follow Ginny up the stairs but the Slytherin's voice once again held him back.

"Okay - if you're not really avoiding me, then come and talk to me right now."

Malfoy's voice was mocking, as if he were issuing a challenge that he knew wouldn't be met. Harry felt his blood heating to a boil, the automatic reaction if anyone, especially Malfoy, challenged him. "Fine," he said, and followed Malfoy into an empty classroom.

The Slytherin raised his wand as soon as the door was closed and Harry drew his own wand in panic, quickly throwing up a shield.

"Someone is extremely paranoid tonight!" said Malfoy after he had cast a silencing charm around the room. He pocketed his wand and held up his hands. "I've had plenty of opportunities to hex you before - what makes you think I'm going to do it now?"

"I don't know - you tell me!" said Harry, still brandishing his wand.

"I'm not the one who's suddenly gone psychotic. You've been avoiding me for a week and barely spoken to me in Potions. Why?"

Harry lowered his wand and looked away. "I told you you're imagining things, Malfoy. Besides, I didn't know you cared."

"I don't," said Malfoy, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "But I refuse to let you publicly humiliate me."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Rich, coming from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Malfoy, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

Harry sighed. What if Malfoy wasn't the traitor? If he wasn't, he probably deserved an explanation for Harry's behaviour. If he was, then maybe Harry could get him to admit it. He would have to be very careful what he revealed, though. Harry took a deep breath and said, "It looks like there's a student at Hogwarts helping the Death Eaters."

Malfoy's eyes widened in surprise. "And you think it's me. Damn you, Potter!" Harry had never heard Malfoy curse before, and when he looked into the silver eyes full of hurt and anger, he wondered if he had actually hurt the Slytherin's feelings.

"What am I supposed to think, Malfoy?" Harry muttered, looking away from those accusing eyes.

"Why does it have to be me?" said Malfoy, unfolding his arms and balling his fists at his sides. "Why not Crabbe, Goyle, or Nott? They certainly have the connections."

"Why not you? Why, Malfoy?" said Harry, the volume of his voice rising with every word. "What am I supposed to believe? Tell me why I should believe it's not you."

"You know I won't talk to you about it, Potter," Malfoy said in a dangerously even tone, despite Harry's shouting.

"That's not good enough any more, Malfoy. I defended you. I told them I didn't think it was you." Harry hesitated, but was desperate enough to get at the truth that he ignored his conscience. "You owe me."

There was no mistaking the hurt in Malfoy's eyes this time. "I thought we were past that, Potter," he said in a bitter tone as he turned away.

"I'm not talking about that," Harry lied quickly, trying not to let his remorse show on his face. "I'm talking about the fact that you owe it to me to tell me I didn't lie to them. You owe me the truth."

"The truth could get me killed, Potter." He looked up at Harry with narrowed eyes. "Wait a minute … Who's been questioning you, anyway? Who suspects me?"

"I can't tell you that."

"You stand there demanding the truth and yet refuse to name my accuser?" said Malfoy, his cheeks turning pink with anger. Harry just stood there and looked at him for a moment, trying to decide what to say. He agreed with Malfoy that it was unfair, but he didn't know how to give him any more information without betraying the Order.

Harry was shocked when Malfoy finally spoke. "The Order of the Phoenix."

"What?" Harry said, feeling a little bit of panic in his stomach.

"Don't bother to deny it," said Malfoy. "The whole wizarding world knows it exists - they just don't know exactly who the members are."

"Why would the Order of the Phoenix bother with me?" asked Harry, shifting uncomfortably.

"That's not good enough anymore, Potter," Malfoy said, throwing Harry's own words back at him.

"That's unfair," said Harry. "Have you been interrogated about me?" Harry knew he was exaggerating, but he sensed that Malfoy was close to giving in. He wanted to know; he needed to know. "Look I don't want to suspect you," he said, a little surprised that he was being so candid with the Slytherin. He took a deep breath and continued, "I-it's … important to me."

Malfoy's head snapped up and he looked at Harry with a piercing gaze, as if trying to gage his sincerity. "I'm important to you?"

"No," Harry lied, furious at himself for letting his guard down momentarily. "I mean that it's important for me to know that the people I hang around with aren't going to curse me when my back is turned."

Malfoy stared at him for a moment with a wounded expression. "Damn you, Potter," Malfoy said again. "Can't you just trust me?"

Harry wondered if he could; it would be so much easier. "I want to," he said honestly. "But for five years you gave me every reason to expect you to hurt me. A few Seeker scrimmages and civil conversations aren't enough to make up for all that. Give me something else, Malfoy." Harry paused for a moment and then as an afterthought added, "Please."

Malfoy turned and walked over to a window, apparently intent on the scenery outside. Finally, without turning around, he said, "All right, but this is just for you. Not for the Order of the Phoenix, not for your little Gryffindor tag-alongs. Only you. Is that clear?"

"Yes," said Harry, trying to keep the glee out of his voice. He forced an even tone and continued, "I won't repeat it. You know I can keep a secret."

"Yes, I know," said Malfoy to the window. Harry could see his shoulders moving as he took a deep breath. "You're not going to like it…"

"What?"

"The truth is," said Malfoy, "I don't completely agree with either side. All I want to do is survive. I will do whatever it takes to stay out of the whole thing. I would leave Britain before I would help either side."

Malfoy stopped, and Harry waited a few moments, expecting something more. The Slytherin remained silent, and Harry finally said, "That's it?"

"I told you you wouldn't like it. You expect me to declare loyalty to one side or the other. I won't - I can't. I am loyal only to myself."

"What a lonely, selfish way to live."

"I don't need your approval, Potter," said Malfoy, turning around to face Harry, "and I could do without your righteous attitude. You wanted the truth - you should appreciate my honesty. What you don't understand is that if I was to openly declare my position, it would be seen as disloyalty toward the Dark Lord and I would be killed."

"But Dumbledore could protect you …"

Malfoy interrupted Harry with a derisive snort. "Dumbledore is far too trusting," he said. He seemed to want to say something else, but apparently changed his mind. Harry wondered if he was thinking of Snape; of course Malfoy would know the Potions Master was a Death Eater, but wouldn't know of his loyalty to Dumbledore. "Look," he finally said, "I know I'm being watched closely. Just … don't tell anyone what I said. Don't even let on that I've given you any reason to trust me." Harry found himself wishing he could reassure Malfoy about Snape, but that was out of the question. Besides, he knew there were probably people other than the Potions Master watching Malfoy.

"Now who's being paranoid?" Harry settled for saying, and he gave the Slytherin a small smile.

Malfoy almost returned the smile. "So, do you trust me?"

Harry thought about that. For some reason, he believed Malfoy was sincere in what he had said, even though there was still a tiny voice in his head asking if he only wanted to trust him. He still wasn't sure Malfoy wouldn't sell his loyalty to the highest bidder, or if he could be threatened into submission by Voldemort.

"I believe what you said," Harry conceded, "but I still don't think I trust you. You haven't declared any loyalty to me or my side at all."

"I can't," said Malfoy in a slightly pleading tone. "I can't," he repeated, but this time he drew himself up to his full height and raised his head in an arrogant pose, as if remembering that he had no reason to be ashamed of his position.

"I guess that will do," said Harry.

"It will have to." Harry nodded, and then Malfoy spoke again. "Going flying?" he asked, gesturing toward Harry's Firebolt.

Harry had almost forgotten he was carrying the broom. "I was going to, but it's getting late now."

"Nah - come on - let's go for a few minutes."

Harry and Malfoy flew around the castle a few times before parting ways. Harry hurried up to Gryffindor Tower, craving the solitude of his bed waiting behind its curtains. He didn't believe Malfoy was helping the Death Eaters, and his instincts told him to trust the Slytherin, but he was afraid of being betrayed. He decided he could continue to study and fly with Malfoy, but he wouldn't be giving him any information about the Order or the prophecy any time soon.

He heard the dormitory door open and close and he grabbed the covers quickly, pulling them over his fully dressed body.

"All right, mate?" said Ron's voice from outside the curtains. "You rushed through the common room in a hurry."

"Yeah, I'm just really tired," said Harry. Then he remembered why he had left the dormitory in the first place and his face flushed a bit. "I'm sorry about yelling before," he said, meaning it sincerely.

Ron poked his head through the gap in the curtains and smiled. "It's okay. We know you're under a lot of stress. We try not to bug you too much - we just want you to know …"

"I know," Harry said with a smile. "Thanks, Ron." Ron's head disappeared and Harry listened for the door to open and close again. He rolled out of bed, changed into his pyjamas, and cleaned his teeth.

His thoughts turned to Ginny as he crawled back into bed, this time to go to sleep. He had almost kissed her, and she didn't look as though she would have objected. Maybe Ron was right; maybe she did like him. The thought certainly appealed to him, and he wondered if he should approach her and try to finish what he had begun. He allowed himself to imagine for a few moments what the kiss would be like, and was glad no one could see the huge, dopey grin on his face.

Harry remembered what he and Ginny had discussed, however, and his smile disappeared. She deserved better, not someone who would eventually be killed or be a murderer. It would be unfair and selfish of him to ask her to be a part of something like that.

She seemed to like him, however; even after he had told her about the prophecy she had seemed to want him to kiss her. Maybe he should let her make the decision for herself. Yes, that was the thing to do. He would wait and see how she acted toward him, whether or not she still seemed to want to be with him now that she had heard about the prophecy. Harry fell asleep relatively quickly after coming to two reasonable conclusions about Malfoy and Ginny, two subjects that had troubled him greatly.

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It rained almost every day during the last week in April, culminating in a horrific thunderstorm on Walpurgis Night that kept Harry awake for hours. May didn't start off much better, and the almost constant rain was not conducive to Quidditch practice. Ron was beginning to get frantic about their last Quidditch game against Slytherin.

"We can still beat Hufflepuff and Slytherin to the cup if you catch the Snitch, Harry," said Ron one morning at breakfast after he had given the enchanted ceiling his morning scowl. "Ravenclaw is out of it."

"I'll catch it," said Harry, forcing confidence into his voice. He knew for a fact that he could outfly Malfoy under almost any circumstances, and he didn't want to express even the slightest doubt in front of Ron since Ron already felt uncomfortable about the two Seekers practicing together.

"Yeah, mate, I know you will. But if you don't see it right away, we'll have to score some goals, because Slytherin certainly will. We have to beat them by at least eighty points to get the cup."

All Harry could do was hope that he saw the Snitch early in the game. The Gryffindor Chasers had been playing better in the few practices they had managed to have between rainstorms, but Harry knew Slytherin's Chasers were superior.

Thinking of Gryffindor's Chasers naturally caused him to think about Ginny, and his stomach clenched slightly. He glanced down the table where she was talking and laughing with some other fifth years, and then returned his gaze to the remainder of his breakfast, which suddenly looked unappetizing. Ginny had treated him indifferently since that night when they had been interrupted by Malfoy. He wasn't sure what he had expected; it was possible that in some secret part of his heart he had hoped she would have approached him to finish what they started. At least she could have been a little friendlier. Harry could only assume that she had decided she didn't like him any more once she heard about the prophecy, but that thought was very disappointing, not just because he wanted more from her, but because he had hoped she would have been able to overlook it.

The Quidditch talk was temporarily suspended by the arrival of the mail. Harry was surprised when a school owl landed neatly in front of him and held out its leg.

"Who's that from?" said Ron around a mouthful of kippers as Harry examined the tiny scroll.

Harry,

This parchment is charmed so that it can be read only by the recipient. It will appear blank to everyone else. Please come to my office tonight instead of going to your Defence lesson with Professor Shacklebolt. Tell no one.

Professor Dumbledore

Harry shrugged and handed the parchment to Ron. "Must be a prank," he said and held his breath as Ron inspected it.

"Probably from Malfoy," said Ron in a derisive tone.

"Honestly - why would he send Harry blank parchment?" asked Hermione, rolling her eyes. She took the scroll from Ron and set fire to it with her wand. Harry watched the ashes float to the table, a little stunned that Hermione took such drastic action. "Well," she said defensively, "it could be some Death Eater trick full of Dark Magic!"

"What if it's Dark Magic that's activated whenever someone sets it on fire?" asked Ron.

"I'm sure it's fine," said Harry quickly as Hermione opened her mouth to argue. "It was probably just a mistake. Did you two ever finish your Charms essays last night?"

Having successfully changed the subject, Harry was free to consider what Dumbledore wanted to see him about so secretly. He wondered if the headmaster had discovered the identity of the traitor. Harry and Malfoy had slipped back into their friendship of sorts after they had had the discussion about Malfoy's position in the war, except, of course, that they rarely went flying because of the rain. Harry believed that the Slytherin was telling the truth when he said he wanted no part in the war, and most of the time he was successful in ignoring the little voice in his head that said, "Yes, but …"

The stone gargoyle in front of the entrance to the headmaster's office sprang out of the way as Harry approached that evening. Harry hurried up the tower stairs instead of waiting for them to spiral him upward, and found the door ajar.

"Come in, Harry, and sit down," said Dumbledore in a jovial tone, which eased Harry's trepidation a bit. Harry glanced around; there was no one else in the room, but a few of the portraits were watching with interest. "Tea?" the headmaster asked as Harry sank into a chair in front of the desk.

"No thanks," said Harry.

Dumbledore nodded, poured himself a cup, and said, "Have you heard of King Solomon, Harry?"

"Who?" said Harry, wondering where this was leading.

"King Solomon was a king of ancient Israel about three thousand years ago. He is said to be the wisest man who ever lived. He once said:

'Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.'"

The headmaster paused, as if waiting for Harry to say something. Harry finally said, "That's a nice sentiment, sir."

"Yes it is, isn't it?" the headmaster agreed. "Apparently Dofflemeyer thought so. He developed a protection charm based on that very quote about two thousand years later." Dumbledore leaned forward slightly and looked at Harry intently. "It's called the Trilixicis Charm. It requires three people to cast, but when active, no magic can get through the shield it creates."

"Are you suggesting I use this charm to defeat Voldemort?" asked Harry, his eyes narrowing in puzzlement.

"No," said Dumbledore. "The shield can't help you in that way. I am suggesting that you have the shield at your disposal to enhance your protection against Voldemort until you are ready to …" To Harry's shock, Dumbledore faltered. Harry couldn't remember the Headmaster ever being at a loss for words before.

"I want to do it as soon as possible," said Harry. "I don't want to meet him again without killing him." Now Harry was surprised at himself. How could he speak so casually about becoming a murderer? Maybe he had finally become angrier about what Voldemort was doing to the wizarding world than about the ugly fate that had been thrust upon him.

"I hope you can, Harry," Dumbledore said in a quiet but intense voice. "However, I still think you should be prepared to use the charm for defence. You may find some other way to use it to your advantage."

"Okay," said Harry with a shrug. "What do I do?"

"The first step is to determine who your spell casters will be."

"Will they be in any danger?" asked Harry, thinking of Ron and Hermione, but not wanting to endanger them.

"The casters will be encircled by the shield along with you, so it will not be possible to harm them with magic while they are casting the charm."

"But won't they become targets if they're protecting me?" asked Harry.

"That is possible," said Dumbledore, "but I believe everyone who would qualify is probably already a target of Voldemort's. Also, we would keep secret the fact that you have the shield available to you, as well as the identities of your spell casters."

Harry nodded as he considered this, running the headmaster's words through his mind again. "Qualify?" he said. "How do people qualify?"

"Your spell casters must be people who love you enough to protect you with their lives," said Dumbledore. Harry's heart leapt to his throat, and his expression must have betrayed his feelings because the headmaster continued, "I seriously doubt they will be required to actually sacrifice their lives. But they must be committed to you to the degree that they will not falter when casting the spell, enough that danger to their own selves is a lesser consideration."

Harry thought Ron and Hermione might possibly be willing to do this for him, but who else cared about him to that degree? Remus's face drifted through his mind, and he realized that he probably loved the man as much as he would have loved a parent. Maybe Remus would be the third spell caster.

"So do I need to ask people about this?"

"No," said Dumbledore. "Tell no one." He paused and looked briefly at something over Harry's shoulder, possibly one of the portraits. He rested his elbows on his desk and formed a triangle with his hands, leaning forward so he could rest his chin on the tips of his fingers. "Whenever magical people interact, they exchange tiny bits of magic, almost too small to be measured. The amount of magic exchanged is based on the intensity of emotion toward the other person. For example, it is very likely that you would exchange more magic in your interactions with Ron Weasley than with Terry Boot."

Harry hadn't known that, and he wasn't sure whether it was comforting or slightly frightening. Either way, it didn't seem to be helpful. "What good will that do me if it can't be measured?"

"I said 'almost', Harry," said Dumbledore. "Professor Snape has brewed a potion that will enhance the foreign bits of magic in your aura, and with a rather tricky charm, we should be able to measure it in your blood."

"Snape knows about this?"

"Professor Snape, Harry. And yes, he is the only person besides the two of us."

"How do you know he won't tell Voldemort?"

"Harry, I know you will find this hard to believe, but Professor Snape wants to see Voldemort's demise just as much as you do, perhaps more." Harry gave a derisive snort but didn't bother arguing. "I can give you the potion today, and then we should be able to determine the identities of qualified spell casters within a fortnight. You will need to interact normally with your classmates and teachers until then."

Harry gave a firm nod and said, "Let's do it."

***********************************************

Over the next two weeks, Harry was so caught up in Quidditch practices and strategy plotting with Ron that he managed to forget about the Trilixicis Charm most of the time. The rain had finally abated and the practices lasted so long that on one occasion Harry thought the team might plot mutiny against their captain.

The morning of the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match dawned bright and fair. Harry gazed up at the sky at breakfast, thinking that the sky was so blue and the few puffy clouds so white they looked like a painting.

Ron kept murmuring things like, "Good visibility," and, "Not much wind," as he paced up and down the aisle between the Gryffindor table and the wall, hovering over the rest of the team as they ate. Hermione had given up admonishing him to eat and had settled for shooting him occasional worried glances.

Finally, Ron said, "Let's go," and the seven team-mates shuffled down to the Quidditch pitch. No one spoke as they changed and sat on the benches to await last minute instructions from their captain. Ron was pale and his hands were trembling slightly as he spoke.

"This is it. You know what to do. Ginny, Katie, and Andrew, you score as much as possible, but don't forget to watch out for Crabbe and Goyle. Jack and Stacey, you focus on preventing their Chasers from scoring. Harry …"

"Don't worry - I'll handle Malfoy," Harry interrupted.

"Are you sure you can play Seeker against your friend, Potter?" asked Jack in a derisive tone.

Harry glared at Jack, but was surprised to see everyone else, even Ron, watching him expectantly, as if waiting to see how he would answer the Beater. "I play to win - I don't care who it is," said Harry in clipped tones, annoyed that he had to defend himself. He swallowed before he continued, determined not to show any doubt. "Besides, he can't beat me."

"Don't get overconfident, Harry," said Ron, looking straight into his eyes. "I'm sure if he can manage it he'll have a few tricks up his sleeve."

"I would expect nothing less," said Harry with a smirk.

"Okay," Ron said, clapping the palms of his hands together. "Now don't panic if they score a few goals. We have to win by at least eighty points to get the cup, so we can afford to let them get a little ahead, but not too far ahead."

"So we can't let them get more than seventy points ahead," said Ginny.

"Right," said Ron. "Okay - time to go!"

Ron paled further as they made their way out of the changing rooms, but his eyes were narrowed and his mouth hardened into an expression of determination. Harry allowed his gaze to linger on Ginny for a few moments; her mouth was set into a firm line and her eyes held only a trace of trepidation. She caught his eye and gave him an encouraging smile, and it suddenly seemed that the most important reason to win the game was so he could see that smile again.

Ron reluctantly shook hands with Adrian Pucey when commanded by Madam Hooch, and then all fourteen players kicked off toward the impossibly blue sky. Harry caught a smirk on Malfoy's face as they ascended and shot back one of his own.

The Slytherin Seeker paused a moment and then flew in the opposite direction as Harry. Harry wondered what Malfoy was doing; in the past, the Slytherin had always followed Harry around, forcing the Gryffindor to look for the Snitch for both of them. He must have realized there was no way he could outfly Harry, and that his only chance was to get a head start toward the Snitch.

Harry thought about Malfoy's strategy for a few moments and decided to stick close to the Slytherin, just in case he happened to see the Snitch before Harry. As he flew toward Malfoy, however, he was blocked by a monstrous body that shouldn't have been able to lift off the ground. Goyle was brandishing his club as if he intended to pretend Harry's head was a Bludger, wearing an idiotic smile. Harry looked past the hulk at Malfoy, who grinned at him over his shoulder and sped away.

Harry cursed under his breath as he scanned the rest of the game below. Just as he suspected, Crabbe was busy hitting Bludgers toward Gryffindor's Chasers and protecting Slytherin's Keeper as Ginny tried to score. Apparently the Slytherins had enough confidence in their Chasers and Keeper to devote a Beater entirely to their Seeker. It was a risky strategy, but Harry had to admit that in this particular situation, it made sense. Harry would either have to find a way around Goyle, or hope he saw the Snitch before Malfoy did.

The score was twenty to ten in favour of Slytherin. At least Gryffindor had scored. Maybe Slytherin's strategy would benefit Gryffindor if their Chasers and Keeper only had to worry about one Beater. That is, if Harry caught the Snitch.

Harry searched for the elusive gold ball for almost an hour, trying to stay clear of Goyle but watch Malfoy at the same time. The score continued to climb for both sides, albeit more slowly for the Gryffindor team. When the score reached one hundred ten to fifty, Harry began to feel nervous. If Slytherin scored two more goals they would win the cup even if Harry caught the Snitch.

Suddenly Harry caught sight of something shiny and turned toward it, flying as fast as he could. He lost sight of it as he neared the stands, but by this time he had attracted Malfoy's attention and the Slytherin was speeding toward him. He looked around frantically, trying to determine where the Snitch had gone while Malfoy sped past him and continued toward the other end of the pitch. Harry began to follow but then something shiny in the direction of the stands caught his eye and he automatically flew toward it.

Harry looked anxiously around the stands, but didn't see the Snitch. Finally he saw the glint of sunlight on metal once more and zeroed in on it, only to realize it was Zabini holding a mirror. Zabini looked up with a smirk and yelled, "Sorry, did this distract you? This wind is murder on my hair!" The Slytherins around him laughed and Harry realized Malfoy had had several minutes to follow the Snitch on his own. A gasp from the crowd made Harry turn quickly, certain he was going to see Malfoy holding the Snitch triumphantly over his head.

Instead he saw a Bludger slam into the back of Malfoy's broom. The Slytherin was reaching for something in front of him, presumably the Snitch, so he wasn't holding on properly and apparently hadn't seen the Bludger coming. His arms flailed helplessly as he tried to get a grip on his broom but he was falling too quickly.

Reacting without thinking, Harry zoomed to the ground just as Malfoy's descent was suddenly arrested and he floated slowly to the ground. Harry looked around and caught sight of Dumbledore just above them in the stands, pocketing his wand.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked, holding out a hand to help Malfoy to his feet.

Malfoy's face was bright red, and Harry realized he was angry when he refused his hand and pulled himself to his feet, stomping past him to retrieve his broom.

"I was so close to finally beating you!" Malfoy shouted over his shoulder. "I hope you're not upset that Vorlavitz will be stealing some of your glory as House Hero!"

"Well, at least you lost the Snitch fair and square!" Harry shouted to Malfoy's back. "Distracting the opposing team's Seeker from the stands is a dirty trick, and probably illegal!"

Malfoy reached his broom and picked it up, turning to Harry before he mounted. "I can't help it if Zabini is a bit vain," Malfoy said, his anger fading into his familiar smirk.

"I'm telling Madam Hooch!" said Harry, balling his fists at his sides and stomping toward Malfoy.

"You can't prove anything," said Malfoy, his grin widening.

"I'll have to tell Stacey she missed!" yelled Harry. "She should have hit you in the head!"

"You know, that's a good idea for Goyle," said Malfoy calmly. "I'll have to pass that along."

Harry continued toward Malfoy until he was only a foot away. He wasn't thinking about his previous hatred for the Slytherin, he wasn't thinking about the possibility of Malfoy working with the Death Eaters, and he wasn't thinking about the fact that he had known Malfoy would do whatever he could to get the advantage. All he could think about was his feeling of betrayal by a friend, and all he wanted to do was to beat his "friend" until he was unconscious.

"I know you want to hit me, Potter," Malfoy whispered. "Go ahead - do it."

Harry took another step toward Malfoy, but then caught sight of Madam Hooch approaching from behind Malfoy. Harry forced his anger down, realizing that if he attacked a member of the opposing team, Slytherin would get at least one penalty shot, maybe more, and there was a possibility that Harry would not be allowed to finish the game. Without Harry, Slytherin would undoubtedly win.

With this realization, Harry's anger toward Malfoy flared again, but he mounted his broom and kicked off, channelling his anger into flying furiously.

The game had continued while the Seekers were on the ground, and now the score was One hundred twenty to fifty. Gryffindor could not allow Slytherin to pull any further ahead, and Harry felt almost panicked in his urgency to catch the Snitch. Goyle had resumed his role of keeping Harry away from Malfoy, but Harry stayed as close to the other Seeker as he could manage without getting his head bashed in.

As the minutes passed, Harry occasionally glanced at the game and the scoreboard as he searched for the Snitch. Millicent Bulstrode, Slytherin's Keeper, was apparently tiring and missed blocking a few shots, allowing Gryffindor to close the gap in score. However, Pucey and Crabbe had developed a strategy in which they shot a Bludger and the Quaffle toward the goalposts at the same time, forcing Ron to choose between missing a block and being knocked off his broom.

Finally, when the score was one hundred eighty to one hundred, Harry saw a glint of gold just behind Malfoy. If he caught the Snitch now, Gryffindor would win the game and they would tie for Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup, and he decided that might be the best Gryffindor could hope for. He sped past a stunned Goyle and a surprised Malfoy and wrapped his fingers around the fluttering ball, finally ending the game.

Harry held the fluttering Snitch above his head as he descended to the ground amid cheers from both the Gryffindor stands and the Slytherin stands. He punched the air as he landed, but Ron was shaking his head.

"They won the cup," said Ron.

"What?" said Harry. "We should have tied for it!"

"Slytherin scored another goal just before you caught the Snitch," explained Ginny as she landed. "They beat us to the cup by ten points."

"It's my fault," said Ron.

"No, it's not," said Harry. "Don't talk like that. This team was terrible at the beginning of the year and your strategies and training made us decent. You've done a lot for this team, and I refuse to let you blame yourself!" Although Harry was disappointed, he couldn't help acknowledging that Slytherin was the superior team overall and probably deserved the Quidditch Cup, but he didn't think this was the time to point that out to Ron.

Ron stared at him for a moment as if stunned, then broke out into a small smile as Ginny threw her arms around her brother. "Thanks, Harry," he said quietly as the rest of the team landed and began congratulating Harry on his catch.

****************************************

Malfoy was waiting for Harry outside the Great Hall after dinner that night. "Good game," he said quietly. Harry rolled his eyes and told his friends to go on without him. Ron gave him a doubtful look, but headed up the stairs with Hermione without protest.

"Are you here to apologize for cheating?" Harry asked as soon as Ron and Hermione were out of earshot.

Malfoy looked truly surprised. "Why would I do that?"

Harry stared at the Slytherin, shaking his head in astonishment. "Then I have nothing to say to you," he said, turning to follow his friends up the stairs.

"Wait, Potter," said Malfoy, falling into step with him. "You're going to stop talking to me over Quidditch?"

"This isn't about Quidditch, Malfoy," said Harry, stopping to face the Slytherin. "I thought we were friends, but you betrayed me." He froze as soon as the words left his mouth, stunned that he had actually called Malfoy his friend. Malfoy's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't comment on the word.

"You thought I would just let you win since we don't hate each other?"

"No," said Harry, "but I expected you to play fair."

Malfoy looked genuinely puzzled. "So my taking advantage of the opportunity would have been okay if we still hated each other?"

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You don't get it at all, Malfoy." He turned and ran up the stairs, but Malfoy followed him.

"I think I 'get it' better than you do," said Malfoy. "This is about Quidditch - it's about winning - it's about Slytherin House, and you're trying to make it about you and me. Not everything is about you, Mr. Boy Who Lived."

"You know I hate that title," said Harry, turning to glare at Malfoy before quickening his pace.

"No, I don't know that at all. You expect quite a lot out of your friends, Potter. You expect your friends to mindlessly follow Dumbledore like you. You expect your friends to adhere to some arbitrary standard of fair play that you set. Is there a written exam, too?"

Harry could feel his cheeks flaming and his eyes flaring as he stopped and turned to the Slytherin. "I don't recall asking you to be my friend, Malfoy."

Malfoy nodded slightly as he glared into Harry's eyes. "No, you didn't," he said, "you just assumed. And therein lies the problem." Malfoy turned on his heel and ran down the stairs. Harry stared after him for a moment, and then hurried up the stairs, trying to outrun his tumultuous thoughts.

**************************************

Harry didn't speak to Malfoy at all over the next couple of days. He caught the Slytherin looking at him reproachfully a few times, and he was beginning to regret his anger. He couldn't help wondering if Malfoy had a point about his expectations of his friends. One of the things he liked about the Slytherin was his disregard for his fame; he had to admit it was refreshing for someone besides his established friends to want to associate with him instead of the Boy Who Lived. Besides, it seemed petty to be cross over a Quidditch game when his anger would be better directed toward Voldemort.

Monday at dinner, Dumbledore caught his eye and raised an eyebrow at him. Harry had almost forgotten about the Trilixicis Charm. He understood from Dumbledore's gesture that he wanted him to go to his office that evening, probably while Ron and Hermione were at their prefect meeting. He had thought he might try to talk to Malfoy that evening in the library, but that was now out of the question; maybe he could arrive early for Potions Tuesday morning.

When he arrived at Dumbledore's office, the headmaster directed him to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Harry gritted his teeth to avoid flinching as Snape removed blood from his arm into a small vial. He was sure the Potions Master was purposely making the process painful; he didn't remember needles hurting so badly when he had gone to a Muggle doctor as a child. When he was finished, he gave Harry a small cloth to daub at his wound, handed the vial of blood to Dumbledore, and left the office without a word.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore called after him, and then walked over to a black cupboard on the other side of his office and pulled out the Pensieve. He seemed to be murmuring to himself as he carried it carefully to his desk and placed it exactly in the centre. Drawing out his wand, his chanting grew louder as he waved the wand over the Pensieve and briefly touched the tip to the contents, which Harry suddenly noticed were black instead of the usual white. He said the incantation twice more, ending each time by touching his wand to the black, swirling substance.

Finally Dumbledore looked at Harry and his eyes cleared as if he were coming out of a trance. "Are you ready, Harry?" he asked with a slight smile.

**********************************

Another note: I am now playing Harry in a new sixth year RPG called Walpurgis Night. Check it out - it's a lot of fun, and the story's really good.  
http://www.greatestjournal.com/users/___harry/friends

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	20. A  Cord of Three Strands

"Though one may be overpowered,  
two can defend themselves.  
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken."

Ecclesiastes 4:12

The headmaster waved his wand silently over the Pensieve, and the black matter inside began to swirl more quickly. Harry wondered idly how they would know the names, and a picture formed in his mind of words being spelled in midair. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably less than a minute, a voice that sounded oddly like Dumbledore’s came from the Pensieve:

"Ginevra Molly Weasley."

Harry felt his mouth drop in shock. Dumbledore had told him that the qualified spell casters would be announced in the order of the intensity of their feelings. What did it mean that Ginny’s feelings for him were stronger than those of anyone else, including Ron and Hermione? Harry’s eyes grew wide with realization as he remembered Ron’s words from several months before, you just know.

Dumbledore gazed at Harry for a moment with twinkling eyes. "It appears you may need to have a talk with Miss Weasley," he said.

Harry allowed his heart to soar into the clouds for a few moments, but then his thoughts became more practical and it crashed painfully back to earth. "I can’t," he said shaking his head firmly. "She deserves better than someone who will either be a murderer or be killed."

"You are giving both Miss Weasley and yourself far too little credit," said Dumbledore. "Besides, if you wait to live your life until he is gone, then he has already won."

Neither can live while the other survives, thought Harry. Dumbledore was right. Voldemort had already taken so much from him: his parents, his childhood, Sirius. He would not allow the Dark Lord to rob him of a chance for happiness.

"Shall we continue?" asked Dumbledore, and Harry nodded.

"Remus John Lupin."

Harry couldn’t help a huge grin. It was gratifying to know that his guardian apparently returned his love in equal measure.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley."

That was no surprise, and Harry’s smile grew a little larger.

"Hermione Jane Granger."

Harry thought his heart might burst with happiness. He supposed he had always known his friends loved him, but to have it proved to him in this manner was extremely gratifying.

"That’s four. How many do you think we need?" asked Harry.

"We only need three to cast the shield," said Dumbledore, "but it might prove cumbersome for the same three people to be required to be with you at all times. On the other hand, we don’t want too many knowing about the charm. I would say six. Two more." He looked at Harry as if waiting for his agreement, and Harry nodded with a shrug.

"Molly Aislin Prewett Weasley."

Harry realized he shouldn’t have been surprised at the intensity of Mrs. Weasley’s motherly affection, but he felt the moisture in his eyes increase. Since he was fondly dwelling on the Weasley family, he was totally unprepared for the next name that was announced:

"Draco Lucius Nebuchadnezzar Malfoy."

Harry’s jaw dropped in shock for the second time that evening. Malfoy? "No way," he said, unaware that he was speaking aloud. "That thing’s got to be broken." Harry shook his head a little and looked at the headmaster, expecting to see an expression of disbelief on his face, but Dumbledore was giving Harry a benign smile.

"Why are you surprised, Harry? You and Mr. Malfoy are friends, are you not?"

"I – friends?" he stammered. Were they friends? "I-I don’t know. I guess maybe we are." But that still didn’t explain… "But love? He loves me? That’s impossible."

"I assure you it is not only possible, it is true. Friendship is one of the most intense and enduring forms of love, sometimes surpassing the love of family or the ardour of lovers. Draco Malfoy has had very few friends in his lifetime. You have given him two things he has never experienced before outside of his family: forgiveness and acceptance."

Harry stared at the headmaster, dumbfounded. He had to concede that he had been thinking of Malfoy as a friend for some time now, but the Slytherin had never acknowledged that he thought of Harry in that way, or that he had any pleasant feelings toward him at all. Harry shook his head slightly, still disbelieving.

Dumbledore’s smile grew a bit larger, and his eyes twinkled affectionately. "These qualities are so embedded in your personality that you are hardly aware they exist, but they are not common in the people Draco previously associated with. Consider that in your first encounter after Draco’s angry outburst, you invited him to share a snack with you. How many people would offer dessert to their attacker?"

Harry didn’t even bother to ask the headmaster how he knew about that. "Er … well … he was in my way … I mean … what was I supposed to do?"

"You could have gone back to bed, or waited until he moved. Or, if you had chosen to hex him, I don’t think he would have reported you, under the circumstances." Dumbledore leaned forward a little in his chair. "Consider why he was sitting there that night, out all alone after curfew."

"He had just been beaten up," Harry whispered.

"Yes, by those he had considered ‘friends.’ Then you came along and showed him the true meaning of the word, and he was intrigued by that. He didn’t understand it, but he wanted to." Dumbledore paused as if to allow Harry to digest what he was saying. "Bear in mind, also, that most of your association since that time has been initiated by Draco."

Harry thought about that, and realized it was true, especially recently. Malfoy had approached him when it had become obvious Harry was avoiding him, and even the argument they’d had two days ago was started … no, Malfoy hadn’t started the argument, Harry had. Malfoy had been the one to seek Harry out though, and Harry suddenly realized that Malfoy had been trying to ensure that their friendship was still intact after their altercation during the Quidditch match.

Harry tried to swallow the lump of guilt that had formed in his throat and said, "Even if he does feel that way about me, he’ll never agree to help with this spell." He looked down at his hands in his lap, which was much more comfortable than looking into the headmaster’s twinkling eyes. "We … we haven’t spoken for a couple of days," he said in a small voice. "And even if we hadn’t argued, he told me he …" Harry broke off, not wanting to break Malfoy’s confidence, but feeling that Dumbledore needed to know at least part of what Malfoy had told him about his loyalties. "He won’t fight for either side. I know he won’t."

Dumbledore nodded slightly, a sage expression in his eyes that irritated Harry for some reason. "Yes," said Dumbledore, "that may be true. But there’s a vast difference between fighting for a cause and defending a friend." The headmaster went to the fireplace, threw in a handful of floo powder, and said, "Severus Snape."

When the Potions Master’s head appeared in the flames, Dumbledore said, "Will you please tell Draco Malfoy that I wish to see him immediately?"

Snape’s eyes widened in surprise and Harry was shocked that he actually stammered when he spoke. "D-Draco, sir?"

"Draco Malfoy," said Dumbledore in a tone that allowed no argument.

"Yes, Headmaster," said Snape and disappeared from the fireplace.

"I’m telling you, he won’t do it," said Harry.

"Why don’t we give him the opportunity to refuse?"

"But if he refuses, he’ll know about the charm. What if he tells someone?"

"If he refuses, we will simply alter his memory. I have not yet invited the other spell casters, so he will have no knowledge of their identities."

Harry sat in silence as they waited for Malfoy to arrive, his thoughts in a whirl. He still couldn’t believe Malfoy actually felt that strongly toward him, though he was beginning to accept some of Dumbledore’s explanation. Suddenly he realized he also felt nervous about Malfoy’s reaction to the request because he knew he would feel rejected if Malfoy refused to be one of his spell casters.

At long last there was a knock at the door. "Come in!" Dumbledore called pleasantly. Malfoy entered, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw Harry, but then hardening into an expression of dislike. Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes and say ‘I told you so’ to Dumbledore and looked away, anywhere besides Malfoy.

"I should have known," Malfoy muttered under his breath.

"Have a seat, Draco," said Dumbledore pleasantly, ignoring Malfoy’s words. "I must ask you something."

Malfoy slumped into the chair next to Harry’s and said, "What?" in a sullen tone.

"Would you be willing to protect Harry with your life?"

In spite of himself, Harry’s head snapped around to watch Malfoy’s face as the question hung in the air. Malfoy’s eyes initially widened in surprise, but then his expression changed to something like realization. After a moment, he lowered his eyes as if ashamed and muttered, "Why would I do that? I don’t even like the prat."

Harry was surprised at how crushed he felt at Malfoy’s rejection. He looked at the headmaster to gauge his reaction, and was surprised to see Dumbledore looking at Malfoy with a small smile. After a few moments, Malfoy raised his head and returned Dumbledore’s intense gaze. "All right," Dumbledore said in a voice that was almost a whisper. "I will now call for the others."

"What are you doing?" Harry demanded as Dumbledore rose from his chair and headed to the fireplace. "He just said he wouldn’t do it!"

Dumbledore turned back to Harry with that astute smile that Harry found so irritating. "Draco wasn’t being quite truthful, were you Draco?" Malfoy dropped his eyes and said nothing.

While Dumbledore summoned the other spell casters, Harry watched Malfoy, searching for some sign that the headmaster was correct about his feelings. The vulnerable, almost hurt expression on Malfoy’s face reminded Harry of that night Dumbledore had mentioned, the night Harry had found him bruised and sitting just outside the kitchens.

Remus came through the fireplace first, then Mrs. Weasley. Both looked curiously at Malfoy and Mrs. Weasley greeted Harry with a warm embrace. After several minutes of uncomfortable silence there was a knock at the door and Dumbledore admitted Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, all of whom eyed Malfoy suspiciously. Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Harry shot him a pleading look; Ron rolled his eyes but kept silent.

Harry couldn’t help a blush when he caught Ginny’s eye, and she gazed at him questioningly. Dumbledore conjured enough squashy armchairs for everyone and then settled himself in his own chair behind his desk.

"Thank you all for coming," said Dumbledore brightly. "I will get right to the point. I believe most of you are aware that Harry is expected to eliminate Voldemort …"

"Professor," interrupted Mrs. Weasley, "are you certain the children should be hearing this?" Though she spoke in general terms, Harry had no doubt she was speaking of Malfoy.

"Molly," said Dumbledore with a gentle smile, "everyone in this room needs this information. The reason will become clear as soon as I am allowed to finish."

Mrs. Weasley seemed unable to suppress an angry glance at Malfoy, who glared back at her. She pressed her lips together as if holding back more words and turned back to Dumbledore.

"As I was saying, Harry is expected to eliminate Voldemort not just because he is the famous Boy Who Lived, but because of a prophecy which has already been partially fulfilled. This prophecy was issued before Harry was born, and it predicted the date of his birth, his parentage, and even the scar on his forehead. Harry was identified as the one with the power to defeat Voldemort before he was born."

Harry watched the six faces of his spell casters as this information was revealed. As expected, the only one to register surprise was Malfoy; shock was actually a more accurate description of the expression on his face. Mrs. Weasley, however, kept shifting her eyes between Dumbledore and Malfoy; she looked as if it was difficult for her to refrain from speaking. The headmaster rested his calm gaze on her for a moment and she visibly relaxed, though her expression was still a bit nervous.

After a moment, Dumbledore continued:

"Voldemort knows of this prophecy, of course, which is why he attacked Harry as a small child, and why he seeks to kill Harry now. As most of you are aware, Harry has been training to defend himself against Voldemort, but until he is ready, he needs to be heavily guarded."

Harry stiffened at the implication of his weakness and inadequacy, even though he knew in his heart that he was not ready to face the Dark Lord. Dumbledore seemed to read his thoughts and turned to him. "Harry, I don’t mean to belittle you in any way – you have become a very powerful wizard. However, I am becoming more and more convinced that it may not be possible to dispose of Voldemort with traditional means. The Killing Curse that rebounded on him fifteen years ago should have killed his body and sent his soul to the afterlife, but his soul remained on earth. I am looking into methods of ensuring his final demise, so that he cannot return again, but until then, you must be protected." Harry nodded, only slightly placated. He couldn’t help feeling angry with himself for putting these people he loved most in danger because he wasn’t ready yet, and vowed to redouble his efforts.

"Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, raising her hand as if she were in class, and looking slightly intimidated, but determined, "would it be all right if I did some research over the summer?" Her eyes darted to Malfoy nervously before she continued. "You know the library I’ll have access to."

The headmaster smiled at her warmly. "Yes, Hermione. I am familiar with your talents in research, and your help would be appreciated."

Hermione beamed, and Harry smiled gratefully at Dumbledore. Harry doubted Hermione’s research skills, however strong, could surpass Dumbledore’s, but he knew Hermione would appreciate feeling as though she were helping.

"However," continued Dumbledore, "I have called the six of you together for a different purpose. I have discovered an ancient charm that will protect Harry against any magical attack. The Trilixicis Charm requires three spell casters who love Harry enough to protect him with their lives. The six of you were chosen by a complicated spell that revealed those with such feelings."

Harry watched as five heads turned simultaneously toward Malfoy, four with identical expressions of disbelief. Only Remus seemed no more than mildly surprised. Malfoy’s expression had hardened into defiance. As Harry could have predicted, Ron was the one to speak first.

"What is Malfoy doing here? Is he a poof now?"

"RON!" said Hermione and Mrs. Weasley in unison. Ginny giggled.

Malfoy’s cheeks turned pink but he managed his usual drawl, "Well, Weasley, I see you sitting here. Do you have something you need to tell your girlfriend about your preferences?"

"Fortunately," said Dumbledore in a tone that commanded silence, "it is not necessary for the spell casters to love each other – only for them to love Harry, and to be willing to do this for him. Ginevra," he said, and Ginny jumped as if startled. "Are you willing to protect Harry with your life?"

"Just a minute," Mrs. Weasley interrupted, holding up one hand. Her cheeks were red as if she was angry, but her eyes were sad and shifty. "As much as I love Harry, I don’t want the children exposed to unnecessary danger."

"MUM!" said Ron and Ginny together.

"Well," said Mrs Weasley, her face reddening as if angry, "I just wondered if Harry’s spell casters could be adults instead of children."

"I AM an adult, Mum!" said Ron. He folded his arms across his chest stubbornly and said, "You can’t stop me – I’m of age."

"That’s true," said Mrs. Weasley, looking slightly defeated. "But Ginny …"

"Mum, please," said Ginny. Her eyes were filled with tears and her cheeks were red, but she had a determined expression. "Don’t keep me from this. You know how important it is to me." Ginny met her mother’s eyes for a moment and then looked down at her lap as if she wanted to disappear. Harry wished he had the nerve to give her a reassuring smile, but it hardly mattered since she seemed to want to look anywhere but at him. Remus caught Harry’s eye, raised an eyebrow, and glanced at Ginny meaningfully. Harry blushed and turned his attention back to Dumbledore, who was saying:

"Molly, you know you can’t keep Harry’s friends from his side, and the children will actually be safer with him if they are spell casters. The charm protects the spell casters as well as Harry."

Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth as if to say something else but then apparently changed her mind. She nodded and looked down at her lap. Harry’s heart went out to her; he had endangered members of her family over and over through the years, and it touched him more than she could ever know that she still loved him despite that.

"Ginevra, are you willing to protect Harry with your life?" Dumbledore repeated.

Ginny lifted her gaze to meet the headmaster’s and said, "Yes," in a firm tone.

"Remus, are you willing to protect Harry with your life?"

"Absolutely," said Remus to Dumbledore, and then he turned and gave Harry such a loving smile that Harry felt tears prick his eyes.

Dumbledore asked Ron, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley in turn, meeting their eyes and seeming to evaluate their honesty. They each agreed in determined tones.

"Draco, are you willing to protect Harry with your life?"

Harry wondered why Dumbledore was asking Malfoy again, but when the other five faces turned in Malfoy’s direction, Harry realized it must have been for their benefit.

"Yes!" said Malfoy defiantly, and then looked down at his lap as if ashamed of a weakness. Ron gave a snort of derision, but thankfully did not speak.

"Excellent!" said Dumbledore, beaming around at them all. "I know Harry appreciates your commitment to him, as do I." He rubbed his hands together before continuing. "You will all need to become proficient at all parts of the charm, so we should plan to have several practice sessions before the end of term. Will Thursday evenings be acceptable to everyone?"

They all murmured various words of agreement, and then the headmaster nodded and dismissed them by saying, "Remember, the existence of the charm and the identity of the spell casters should be treated with the utmost secrecy. I will see you all Thursday evening at seven." As they rose to leave, Dumbledore said, "Draco, will you and Harry stay behind for a moment? Draco needs to have a plausible excuse for coming to my office for the next few weeks." Harry and Draco resumed their seats and waited for the others to leave.

"Draco," said Dumbledore when only the three of them remained, "I believe your actions during the Quidditch match on Saturday warrant at least three weeks of detention. You will come to my office each Thursday evening at seven." The headmaster’s expression was stern, but his eyes were twinkling.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and said, "Yes, Headmaster," in a falsely submissive tone.

"It would be wise for you to protest my punishment to your head of house," Dumbledore continued. "Then he will have an explanation for your summons to my office this evening as well."

"I understand," said Malfoy with a sober expression. So do I, thought Harry, realizing that Dumbledore meant for him to continue to keep Snape’s true loyalties from Malfoy. This would also serve to alert Snape that Malfoy was not aware of his Order affiliation.

Dumbledore dismissed Harry and Malfoy and they descended the stairs in awkward silence. "This is weird," Malfoy said as they walked around the gargoyle and into the corridor. "I resented you for five years because it seemed like you wanted everything to be about you, about the Boy Who Lived. It’s weird to find out that everything really is all about you."

"I wish it wasn’t."

"That’s another thing," said Malfoy, speaking so quietly Harry slowed his footsteps in an effort to hear him more clearly. "You really don’t like the attention, do you?"

"I never have, Malfoy. Would you like to be famous for how your parents died?"

Malfoy apparently had nothing to say to that, and the silence stretched between them. Harry let his mind wander over the events of the evening as they walked, and another thought occurred to him.

"You know," said Harry, looking sideways at Malfoy with a smirk, "tonight was very revealing in many ways."

They had reached the entrance hall, and Malfoy stopped near the stairs, looking around urgently as if to ensure no one would overhear. "Love is a very strong word," Malfoy said in a whisper, "maybe too strong – you know I like girls, don’t you?"

"That’s not what I meant," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "Draco Lucius Nebuchadnezzar Malfoy?"

A pink tinge stained Malfoy’s cheekbones, but he drew himself up to his full height and said, "I am named after my father and my grandfather. It’s a wizarding tradition. Aren’t you named after yours?"

"Yes, my father – James," said Harry. "But your grandfather was named Nebuchadnezzar?"

"He was an ancient Babylonian king," said Malfoy, inclining his head proudly, "and Lucius was a Roman Emperor. I am named after two kings."

"Of fallen kingdoms," Harry said with a snicker. "James was a king of England, a kingdom that still exists."

"A Muggle kingdom," said Malfoy with disdain.

"What – Babylon and Rome were wizard kingdoms?"

"A Malfoy would never be named after a Muggle."

Harry rolled his eyes again. "This conversation is silly."

"I am defending my name," said Malfoy in an arrogant tone.

"You are so full of yourself." Harry shook his head and turned to go up the stairs.

"Want to go flying?" Malfoy called after him.

"Yeah!" said Harry, turning around. "No! I’ve …" He lowered his voice and continued, "I’ve got to go talk to Ginny."

"You never got around to snogging her?"

Harry felt his face heat up and he turned quickly toward the stairs. "See you tomorrow, Malfoy!" he called without turning around as he headed up the stairs.

Ginny was sitting with Ron and Hermione by the fireplace in the common room. All three looked up when the portrait opened, but Ginny looked away quickly. Harry swallowed and walked straight up to her with a determined gait.

"Can I talk to you, Ginny?" She glanced at him nervously, and then looked away. Ron and Hermione exchanged a significant smile.

"Of course, Harry," said Ginny, but she gave no indication that she had any intention of moving.

"I mean … c-can we … can we take a walk?" Ron beamed at him, and Harry shot him a scowl.

"Sure, Harry," said Ginny with a shrug, obviously trying to act nonchalant, but Harry saw the trepidation in her eyes. What did she think he was going to say?

She was silent as they made their way down the stairs to the entrance hall. It was, however, an awkward silence; Harry felt tension radiating from Ginny and he felt his own stomach clench as he tried to figure out how to tell her how he felt. Harry held the castle door open for her as she preceded him out into the night. May had been unseasonably fair, and a warm breeze caressed their faces as they walked side by side toward the lake.

Suddenly, Ginny began to talk, as if the gentle wind had broken through the dam her tension had built. "About that charm thing – you know, love is a really strong word, I mean, Hermione loves you but she’s obviously not in love with you, I mean, if she is then she needs to have a talk with Ron, and my mum obviously isn’t in love with you, that would just be sick …"

"Ginny," said Harry quietly, "the names came out in order of intensity …"

"… and Ron and Remus aren’t in love with you, I mean, they’re blokes and Remus is like your father anyway, and well, I don’t know much about Malfoy, but I can’t see you being quite his type …"

"Ginny," Harry said a little more loudly, wishing she would quit talking, "your name came out first."

"Well, that doesn’t mean anything, Harry. There are lots of different kinds of love you know. Mum and Remus are a parent-type love, Ron and Hermione are a friend-type love, I don’t know what Malfoy is …"

Harry longed for her to shut up so he could talk to her, even though he still wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to say. They stopped walking at the edge of the lake and he watched her lips moving, but his heart pounded so loudly it drowned out her voice.

Before he realized what he was doing his hands were on her arms and his lips were on hers. She stiffened for a second, and then returned the kiss enthusiastically. After a few moments he pulled back and was amazed at intensity of love and wonder in her eyes.

"You feel the same way, don’t you?" she whispered. Harry felt that if he spoke, he would burst, so he settled for nodding slightly with a smile. "Okay then," she said, and wrapped her arms around his neck pulling him down for another kiss.

When they finally broke apart, Ginny looked intently into his eyes and said, "I love you, Harry." Harry wanted to reciprocate, to tell her how he felt, but at her words a lump had risen in his throat, preventing all speech. He suddenly found himself blinking frantically, but refused to release her or look away. "What is it, Harry?" she said, her expression changing to concern. She lightly brushed his cheek with the back of her hand where a tear had escaped, and the tenderness of the gesture loosened the knot in his throat a little.

"No one has ever said that to me before," he said in a hoarse whisper.

"Oh, Harry," said Ginny in a voice that conveyed hurt and righteous indignation on his behalf. "That’s just …" She shook her head. "Well, I’ll say it over and over until you get tired of it."

Harry knew he would never tire of hearing it, but he couldn’t tell her that because his lips were otherwise occupied.

"I love you, Harry," Ginny repeated after several more moments had passed.

"I love you, too, Ginny," Harry whispered, gazing intently into her eyes, willing her to realize how much he meant it. The simple words seemed inadequate. Harry knew he would do anything for her, including kill or be killed. He felt as if her love was necessary for his heart to continue to beat. He hoped that somehow she would understand that.

Ginny laid her head on Harry’s chest and snuggled into his embrace. "Why didn’t you do this a long time ago?" she asked in a voice muffled by his jumper.

"I didn’t think you were interested," he said quietly. "For a while I thought you liked Zabini."

"Blaise?" Ginny said with disdain. "He only wanted to get into my knickers." Harry stiffened, suddenly feeling as if he needed to pound his fist into Zabini’s face until it was a bloody mass. "Come on, Harry," she said, pulling back to look at him. "He wasn’t successful! I’m not that kind of girl, you know, and I can certainly take care of myself."

Harry kissed her again, possessively this time. She matched his passion and after several moments they pulled apart gasping for breath. "We should probably go in," Ginny panted.

"Yes," Harry agreed, but he tightened his arms around her and started raining light kisses down her throat.

"Harry," Ginny gasped. The passion in her voice caused him to redouble his efforts, moving her blouse aside slightly to give special attention to a particularly soft spot on her shoulder. "Harry!" Ginny said more firmly, "it’s really close to curfew."

Ginny’s tone of voice brought Harry to his senses. He pulled back and let her go, smiling sheepishly, ashamed of himself for getting carried away. "Sorry," he murmured.

She gave him a warm smile, took his hand, and they walked back to the castle. "My mum’s going to have kittens about this," Ginny said with a grimace.

Harry laughed, actually delighted at the thought of announcing to the world that Ginny Weasley was his girlfriend. But after a moment he remembered who he was, and his thoughts sobered quickly. "Maybe we should keep this rather low-key, Ginny," said Harry. "I mean, I don’t mind telling your family, but I don’t want you to become a Death Eater target because of me."

"Oh, get over yourself, Harry," Ginny said firmly, startling him a bit. "I’m a target anyway because I’m a Weasley. I refuse to let Voldemort and his band of merry men dictate how I live my life." Harry snickered at the image Ginny’s words painted.

They managed to climb through the portrait hole without unclasping their hands, and Harry blushed when he saw Ron and Hermione beaming at them. "It’s about bloody time!" said Ron.

************************************

For Harry, the last few weeks of term sped by in a blur of studying, extra lessons, and Ginny. He spent as much time as he could with her, but her time was limited since she was revising for her O.W.L.s. Before he knew it, the final exams were upon him, and Malfoy was quizzing him out of the Potions text in the library.

"You have to put dandelion seeds in that one, Potter, not dandelion stems!" exclaimed Malfoy, earning a glare from Madam Pince. "Can you possibly be more dim?"

"You don’t have to be such a prat about it!" Harry said, gathering his things and preparing to leave.

"Get over it," said Malfoy, rolling his eyes. "All I’m trying to say is that it’s obvious this isn’t your best subject. I really wish you’d tell me how you managed to get an E on your Potions O.W.L." Malfoy gave Harry a significant look, as if asking to be let in on a secret.

"I did!" said Harry, his cheeks flushing with budding anger. "You just didn’t believe me. The questions on the exam just happened to be things I knew."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes in apparent concentration. "If I remember correctly, a big part of the written exam had to do with Polyjuice Potion, and that’s something we barely covered in class. I only knew the answers from reading about it in the text."

Harry’s anger faded and an enigmatic smile spread slowly over his face. Should he tell Malfoy? Surely he wouldn’t get angry over something that happened over four years ago. "Well, you see, Ron, Hermione, and I did a little bit of research on that potion on our own in second year."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and said, "Don’t tell me Granger managed to brew an N.E.W.T. level, not to mention illegal potion when she was twelve!" He shook his head in disbelief.

"Worked rather well, too," said Harry with a grin.

"You expect me to believe this story?"

"Yeah, I do. The potion certainly fooled you!"

"Me?" said Malfoy, his expression changing to puzzlement. "Who were you?"

"Crabbe and Goyle. Christmas Day. Right after the feast. We saw Percy in the dungeon corridor. The password to the Slytherin common room was ‘pure blood’. We asked you if you knew who the Heir of Slytherin was."

Harry enjoyed watching Malfoy’s face morph from scepticism to surprise as he spoke. "Merlin’s beard – you did!" Malfoy said after a pause. "I ought to hex you for that!"

"Probably," said Harry with a laugh. "But it was a waste of time. We thought you were the Heir of Slytherin, but you weren’t, of course. The change was very painful, anyway. I think that alone is punishment enough."

"Well," said Malfoy, looking oddly pleased, "I’m actually a bit flattered that you thought I was the Heir of Slytherin. I must have had the ‘evil’ act down pretty well."

"You were nothing but a spoiled brat," Harry said with a shrug, but his eyes were teasing. "We were young and naïve."

"You were a bit stupid, too," said Malfoy. "What a waste to become Crabbe and Goyle! Why didn’t you become McGonagall and take a bunch of points from Slytherin? Or become Snape and change your Potions marks? I could think of a hundred better things to do with Polyjuice Potion!"

"We thought we could get you to admit you were the Heir of Slytherin," said Harry in a defensive tone. "We may break the rules occasionally, but only for a good cause."

"Because, of course, you know better than the teachers," said Malfoy, rolling his eyes. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms in front of him. "How many other stories like that do you have?"

"Several, actually," said Harry with a laugh. "Want to hear the one where Ron and I almost got eaten by Acromantulas in the forest?"

"Er … no," said Malfoy, reaching for his book. "I think we need to study."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked in what he hoped was a tantalizing tone. "We got rescued by a flying car."

"Yeah, right – you expect me to believe that?"

"I suppose not," said Harry with a shrug, pretending to focus his attention on his Potions text.

After a moment, Malfoy spoke again. "It’s true, isn’t it?"

"Also second year."

*********************************

"You had him for your Divination practical?" Harry asked Ginny as they entered an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express. "Last year, Ron told him he was ugly and had a wart on his nose."

"I did not!" Ron said angrily, following Harry into the compartment and flopping into a seat. He looked at Hermione in alarm; apparently she hadn’t heard that story.

"Well, I think the subject is a load of nonsense," said Ginny, pulling Harry into the seat across from Ron and Hermione. "I’ll be glad to give it up next year."

"Hear, hear!" said Ron, holding up a chocolate frog as if making a toast, and then biting off its head.

"What does Harry mean – you told the examiner he was ugly?" asked Hermione, turning to Ron with a very curious expression.

"Yes, Weasley, I’d like to hear that story too," said Malfoy as he slid the compartment door shut behind him.

Ignoring Malfoy, Ron put his arm around Hermione and pulled her close. "I think you’re beautiful," he said, gazing into her eyes.

"Thank you," said Hermione, "but you’re not going to distract me from that explanation."

"Are you sure?" asked Ron, waggling his eyebrows and leaning closer.

"I’ve got to get out of here before I vomit," said Malfoy with his face scrunched in disgust. "I’ll go see if Zabini managed to find some birds to sit with." He opened the door, turning to Harry just before he left the compartment. "I’ll catch up with you before we get to London."

Harry nodded as Malfoy shut the door. He had to admit he would miss his friend over the summer. Harry was a bit nervous about Malfoy spending his holiday with his mother because of her Death Eater connections, but he kept reminding himself that the only two people who knew the extent of their friendship besides the Trilixicis Charm casters were Dumbledore and Snape. Of course, he wasn’t completely sure he could trust Snape, and that was probably the main source of his unease.

"I thought he’d never leave!" said Ginny. She scooted closer to Harry and planted her lips firmly on his.

"Oi, mate! That’s my sister!" growled Ron. Harry looked up in alarm, but Ron’s expression was amused.

"Oh, shut up and snog your own girlfriend!" said Ginny.

"That’s a good idea," said Hermione, scooting closer to Ron.

It did feel a bit weird to be kissing his best friend’s sister in front of him, but after a little while it sunk in that Ron was far too busy with Hermione to be watching, so he relaxed and concentrated on enjoying the relative privacy of the compartment.

The sound of the compartment door sliding open startled Harry into springing away from Ginny. "You’re lucky it’s not Molly doing the rounds," said Remus, obviously amused.

"Hi Remus," said Ginny with an angelic expression.

"You should be at home, resting," said Hermione, looking at Remus with concern as he sat heavily in the seat next to Harry. It was the day before the full moon, and Remus looked pale and tired.

Ron gave an angry growl and said, "If it wasn’t for bloody Diggory …" The Minister of Magic had refused to allow Aurors to ride the train, saying that it was unlikely the Dark Lord would be targeting children, and the Ministry’s limited resources could be better used elsewhere.

"I would have ridden anyway," said Remus, holding up a hand as if to block Ron’s protest. "And so would your mother." He gave Ron a pointed look.

"I guess that’s true," said Ron with a shrug. Harry felt a mixture of guilt that Remus was riding when he felt badly but appreciation that he was willing to protect him.

Remus glanced toward the closed door and said, "How’s Occlumency coming?" in a low voice, leaning toward Harry as he spoke.

"Well, as of last week I still couldn’t fight off Dumbledore," said Harry with a grimace of frustration. "I can block Snape out most of the time, but Dumbledore’s much stronger. I don’t know how I’m ever going to keep Voldemort out of my head. From a distance is no problem, but close proximity …" He trailed off, shaking his head.

"I know you’ll get it Harry," said Remus, "and that’s saying something. There aren’t many wizards who could keep Albus Dumbledore out of their heads. He’s going to work with you over the holiday, isn’t he?"

"Yeah. At least it’s not Snape."

Remus smiled gently without a trace of reproof. "Where’s Draco?" he asked.

"Went to sit with Zabini," said Harry. "He said he’d be back before we get to London."

"Okay," said Remus, "but the rest of you need to stay with Harry." He looked around at Ginny, Ron, and Hermione, who all nodded. He pushed himself to his feet and said, "I suppose I’d better see if I can catch any more snogging couples. I’ll see you later."

As soon as the door had closed behind Remus, Ron pulled Hermione to him and resumed his previous activities. Harry shrugged and started to copy him, but then Hermione pulled back and said, "Ron, what if that had been your mum? We’d better stop."

"She’s probably right," Harry said reluctantly, giving Ginny’s shoulders a squeeze before releasing her. Ginny had assured him that her parents and brothers were thrilled that they were dating, but he was still a bit nervous about interacting with them as "Ginny’s boyfriend" instead of just "Ron’s friend".

Ron released Hermione with kiss on the cheek and pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket. "Exploding Snap?" he said to the compartment at large.

Hermione declined and pulled a book out of her trunk, and the others settled into a game. The mood in the compartment was relaxed and almost celebratory; the anticipation of spending two months together with no classes had put everyone in high spirits.

As they were beginning their fourth game, the train suddenly lurched to a stop, and Harry and Ginny were flung across the compartment into Ron’s and Hermione’s laps. The scene would have been quite comical if Harry hadn’t suddenly felt raw panic flood his stomach. As he pushed himself off of Ron, he looked around at his friends; all three had wide eyes and gaping mouths that clearly reflected his own mood.

"What’s going on?" Harry asked, pulling his wand from his pocket and starting toward the door.

"Stay here, Harry," said Ginny, grabbing his arm. "Let’s just wait and see."

"But what if we’re under attack?" Harry asked in protest, pulling his arm out of Ginny’s grasp. He fought away the twinge of guilt he felt when she shot him a reproachful look.

"We can defend ourselves much easier from here, mate," said Ron in a low but intense voice.

Harry rolled his eyes, knowing that Ron was talking about the Trilixicis Charm, but did not open the compartment door. "Fine," he said in a sullen tone. He hated the idea of other students possibly having to fight Death Eaters while he was being protected by his friends, but he knew it was foolish to go into the narrow corridor where it would be very difficult to cast the charm.

In the distance they could hear doors opening and shutting; Harry found it more and more difficult to remain in the compartment as the sounds came closer. They heard a faint scream, as if from far away, and Ron laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder to stop him when he moved toward the door again.

Suddenly it felt as if Harry’s head was ripping in two along his scar. The pain in his head burned a path to his stomach and he had to struggle not to retch. He dropped his wand as one hand flew to his head and the other clenched at his waist. "He’s here," he gasped.

Ginny grabbed the hand at his waist and squeezed it hard, helping to take his mind off the pain in his head. Harry wanted to thank her, but was only remaining on his feet by extreme force of will. He felt someone slip his wand into his pocket, and as he lowered his hand from his forehead to see who it was, Hermione slipped her hand into his, her expression frightened but determined. Ron had joined hands with Ginny so that the four made a complete circle, and Harry could almost feel the love pulsing through it. As he focused on the love of his friends, the pain in his scar subsided somewhat. "I love you, Harry," Ginny whispered in his ear.

They stood there for what seemed like hours, each staring at the others’ scared faces and refusing to let go of their hands. Harry struggled against the thoughts and feelings of Voldemort which kept trying to push into the cracks around the barrier he had created with Occlumency, but the odd feeling of excitement or triumph occasionally forced away his fear.

The door flew open and Harry’s scar exploded with renewed force; he automatically dropped Ginny’s and Hermione’s hands in favour of grasping his head. "He is here, Master!" shouted an excited voice, and Harry forced his eyes open just wide enough to see the ends of three wands in his face, each held by a cloaked figure in a mask.

One of the Death Eaters bellowed, "Expel –"

"Stop!" commanded a cold high voice that drowned out the Death Eater and caused Harry’s blood to turn to ice. "Leave the boy to me!"

"As you wish," said the Death Eater with a slight bow. The three figures backed out of the doorway to allow Voldemort to pass.

Harry forced himself to stand up straight and defiant as Voldemort approached the doorway of the compartment. He heard two gasps and a muffled sob behind him, but resisted the urge to turn around. The Dark Lord was tall and regal in an impossibly black hooded cloak; he might have been mistaken for royalty if not for his inhuman face. Harry could feel the arrogant confidence radiating from his enemy, and Harry used it to shove away his fear, hold his back erect, and look the Dark Lord in the eye.

"Hello, Tom," Harry managed to choke out through his pain.

Voldemort’s red eyes darted around the compartment before landing on Harry. The Dark Lord raised his wand and a slow smile spread across his face as if he were savouring the moment. He drew in a slow breath in a hiss that made Harry think of a snake about to strike.

"Funis!" shouted Ginny from behind Harry, and a golden thread snaked out of the end of her wand.

"Tres!" yelled Ron, and a silver thread emerged from his wand.

"Restis!" cried Hermione, and her blue thread merged with the silver and golden threads, braiding themselves together in midair. The completed braid formed a circle around the four friends and began to spin, and a shimmering translucent light spread to enclose them.

"Avada Kedavra!" shouted Voldemort, pointing his wand at Harry. The green light sailed across the compartment and stopped short when it reached the shield, which glowed bright green for a split second and then returned to normal, as if it had absorbed the curse. Voldemort’s eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed in realization and anger.

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort bellowed, sounding frustrated, this time pointing his wand at Ginny. Harry cried out and tried to step in front of Ginny, but the shield deflected the curse a second time.

"Hold still, Harry!" yelled Ginny, grabbing his arm with her free hand. "He can’t get me!"

Harry looked into Ginny’s eyes and marvelled once again at the love he found there. As he held her gaze, he felt overwhelmed by the knowledge that she could have been killed because of her love for him, and he felt tears begin to trickle down his face.

"Giving in to your emotions, Harry Potter?" taunted Voldemort. "Remember this, Harry – love makes one weak."

Harry looked at Voldemort. He couldn’t see him clearly through the swirling colours, and wondered how the Dark Lord had known he was crying. A sharp surge of pain in his scar reminded him forcefully of the connection between them, and he realized Voldemort must be able to sense his emotions as Harry could sense his.

Harry focused as hard as he could on his love for his friends, and finally forced the pain to subside enough that he felt he could speak without vomiting. "Weak?" he said, swiping at the wetness on his face. "I don’t think so. You haven’t managed to get through this shield, have you?"

In response, Voldemort and the Death Eaters began shouting curses and hexes at random, but the shield held, seeming to glow brightly with a rainbow of colours as the various spells were absorbed. Harry looked around at Ron and Hermione. They were both shaking, and Hermione had tears streaming down her cheeks, but their faces were set and determined.

Finally Voldemort growled in rage and frustration and disappeared with a loud crack. The Death Eaters followed a split second later.

Harry wanted to look into the corridor to see if they were really gone, or at least shut the door, but he knew it was unwise to move beyond the shield. After several moments, Ron finally voiced the question that was in all of their minds, "D’ya think it’s safe to lower the shield?"

"No!" said Hermione. "He might come back!"

They continued to stand there, frozen, while the shield spun around them. Harry longed to take Ginny into his arms, but he knew distracting her could be deadly for them all. When they finally heard footsteps pounding in the corridor, they tensed and gripped their wands more tightly.

Remus burst into the compartment with a wild look in his eyes. He relaxed visibly when he saw Harry. Then he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, tapped it with his wand, and said, "Portus. Lower the shield and touch this." A few seconds later, Harry felt the familiar tugging behind his navel as he began to fly through the air.


	21. Summertime

Friday, 20 June

Potter,

It seems really strange writing to you, since I don’t know for sure if you’re dead or alive. The attack on the train has, of course, been reported in the Daily Prophet, but the article didn’t include a list of the dead and injured. However, I’m sure that if you had been killed it would have made the front page, so I’ll assume you’re alive.

As you’ve probably heard by now, my mother Apparated onto the train and portkeyed me home just before the attack, so I really don’t know much about what happened. I hope you can tell me more since I know the Daily Prophet’s version of events will be biased.

I’m just going to assume my owl will find you. I hope you get this letter, and write back soon.

Malfoy

*******************************************

Sunday, 22 June

Dear Malfoy,

I’m fine – glad to know you were so worried about me. Remus portkeyed us here as soon as Voldemort left the train. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione are here with me, and they’re all fine (not that you cared to ask, but now you know).

I can’t tell you where I am – sorry. I can only tell you I’m well protected, even though I’m really bored. We’re stuck in this place for the holiday – we aren’t allowed to leave for any reason. At least I’m with my friends instead of my relatives. I’m glad to be with Ginny, but there’s only so much snogging we can do with so many adults around.

As for what happened on the train, I can tell you a little. However, I have to be careful what I put in a letter since mail can be intercepted.

One thing that was rather sad – Nymphadora Tonks was killed. Of course, you’ve probably heard about that by now, since she’s your cousin. But I wondered if you really knew her – Sirius told me that the Black family considered Andromeda a blood traitor and pretended her and her daughter didn’t exist. I got to know her a little because she’s one of the Aurors who helped protect me sometimes, and I really liked her.

A couple of other Aurors were killed that I didn’t know, but no students. I think Voldemort was after something in particular, and when he realized he couldn’t get it, he left and took his Death Eaters with him. I think you know what I’m talking about.

I know she’s your aunt, but I can’t help being glad that Sirius’ killer is dead. I heard that Neville was found standing over her with his wand, but that he’s not sure exactly what happened. She wasn’t killed with the Killing Curse, so it’s possible she was hit with a combination of curses from several different people. To be honest, I would have liked to have killed her myself, but I guess Neville had good reason to want her dead, too.

As for what happened to me, well, I can’t say much, but Voldemort himself attacked me. I got lucky again.

Let me know what you’re doing this summer!

Potter

P.S. Doesn’t your mother wonder why I’m writing to you?

**************************************

Wednesday 25 June

Potter,

Don’t flatter yourself - I was not worried about you – you prat! In fact, I’m going to kill you myself for not warning me that your letter would burst into flames the moment I finished reading it. Are you trying to kill me? You’re going to pay for my singed fingers the next time I see you!

You’re so paranoid – as if anyone would care about our boring letters. Please.

I have to admit I almost feel sorry for you being cooped up with the “treacle couple” this summer. How can you stand to be around Weasley and Granger? I’m just hoping that you and Weaslette don’t start acting like them when we get back to school – if you do, I’ll have to hex you into oblivion. And please no more comments about snogging – I don’t need the mental images.

I’m not going to say much about Aunt Bella in a letter since our views about her will never be compatible. I never really saw much of her since she was in Azkaban during my childhood, but she was part of my family, and my mother is mourning her loss.

As for Nymphadora – yes, I did meet her once. She approached me in Diagon Alley, said she’d immediately recognized me, and asked about my mother. I’m afraid I was rather rude to her once I figured out who she was. I think I would like it if you would tell me what you knew about her – she was my own flesh and blood, after all.

I’m rather bored, myself. We have a Quidditch pitch, a swimming pool, and a vast library, but there’s only so much time you can spend reading, swimming, and flying around. I can’t really practice Quidditch by myself, and it’s not likely I’ll have any visits this summer. Mum’s talking about taking me to our villa in Italy next month. Great, I can be bored in another country!

By the way, Mother doesn’t know we’re writing to each other – do you think I’m stupid? When I get an owl, I just tell her it’s from one of my friends, and she respects my privacy. Not that you’re one of my friends, of course.

Write back soon – at least one of your burning letters will give me something new to look at for ten seconds.

Malfoy

**************************************************

Monday, 30 June

Dear Malfoy,

I’m sorry I forgot to warn you about the letter, but I’m not sorry I put that charm on it. It would have burst into flames if anyone besides you had tried to read it, too.

As for being paranoid, one time during fifth year Hedwig was hurt really bad while trying to deliver a letter to me from Sirius. It was obvious to Grubbly-Plank that she was attacked by something, or someone. Has your owl ever been attacked? If it had, then maybe you’d be paranoid too!

Boo hoo – I feel so sorry for you! Huge mansion with all the finest stuff and you’re bored! Please! If you’re just going to whine then don’t write at all – I’m sure I don’t want to hear it!

Your cousin Nymphadora was … it’s hard to sum her up in a few words. She was one of the most unusual people I’ve ever met. She was an Auror, but she was very clumsy – it made me wonder how on earth she was ever accepted in the Auror program! She was very nice and friendly, and always made me laugh. Did you know she was a Metamorphmagus? She used to entertain us by changing one bit of her face over and over, like her nose. Every time I saw her she looked different, so I never really knew what she looked like until after she died. It was almost creepy how much she looked like you. I’ve met Andromeda before, and I realized she looked a bit like your mum, but Nymphadora had the same colour eyes and hair as you. She hated her name – she insisted on being called “Tonks.” I wish you could have really known her.

Potter

**********************************

Wednesday, 2 July

Potter,

This is for the singed fingers.

Malfoy

************************************

Friday, 4 July

Malfoy,

You are such a baby! I don’t believe your fingers were even burned. You’re a Slytherin – you wouldn’t hold the letter long enough to get singed. You’re a whiner and a faker!

I can’t believe you thought a letter with a security feature justified turning me into a ferret for thirty minutes! I will be getting you back – consider yourself warned!

Potter

*******************************

Tuesday, 8 July

Potter,

A Security Feature? You’ve got to be joking! That, or you’re completely insane.

Please tell me someone took photographs of you as a ferret!

I got the fake letter at Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes. Did you like it? The Weasley clones were rude until they found out I intended to be a paying customer. I guess Galleons talk with Weasleys. I think the Extendable Ears might come in especially handy.

Zabini came to visit me this week. It was a pleasant relief to the monotony. I was a little surprised his parents let him come, but he said he had turned seventeen and could do what he pleased. I doubt a Malfoy would be welcome at his house, but I think he might visit here again, if he can tear himself away from Daphne (or whomever he’s currently shagging).

I’m waiting in terror for your revenge!

Malfoy

**********************************

Friday, 18 July

Malfoy,

Sorry I haven’t written in awhile. I need to hurry, but I wanted to let you know what’s going on. I’m sure by now you’ve heard about the Death Eater attack on Diagon Alley. Well, Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes was hit, and Fred was almost killed. We’re still not sure if he’s going to live. Ron and Ginny are both very upset, but I’ve never seen anyone as upset as George is. He’s even more upset than Mrs. Weasley. He won’t leave Fred’s side. It’s hard for me to understand the bond between brothers since I’ve never had a brother or sister. I guess you and I have that in common. But I’ve heard that the bond between twins is even stronger than regular siblings, and Remus has told me that identical twins have a magical bond too, and that it is probably physically painful for George.

Right now, it doesn’t look like Fred will make it. I sure hope he does – he’s always been nice to me, and I consider him a friend. The Weasleys have had enough grief in this war with the loss of Percy and their home – they don’t need any more.

Potter

***************************

Monday, 21 July

Potter,

I have to say that I’m truly sorry to hear about Fred. I hope he lives through this. I actually thought he and George were very amusing when I went into their shop (once they got over my name being Malfoy). Having never had a sibling, much less an identical twin, it is difficult to imagine George’s distress. Please pass my well wishes on to your friends.

Malfoy

*******************************

Saturday, 26 July

Malfoy,

Fred is going to be alright. The healers told us last night. It was weird – George actually knew it before they did. I guess they do have a bond.

I’ll write more later.

Potter

***********************************

Monday, 28 August

Potter,

I’m glad to hear Fred will be alright. We are preparing to leave the country. I’ll write a longer letter when I arrive.

Malfoy

*******************************

Wednesday, 30 July

Potter,

I’m writing this from the balcony of our villa in Florence. The sun is setting over the red roofs of the city, and the scent of pasta is drifting on the feeble breeze. That’s horrible! It sounded almost poetic! I’ve been hanging around you sentimental Gryffindors too much. Disgusting! Maybe Zabini will come and visit me again.

If you’re thinking of feeling jealous that I’m in Italy – don’t. It’s hot. Mother doesn’t seem to understand the concept of staying north in the summer and going south in the winter. We should be spending Christmas here, not bloody July!

Tomorrow is your birthday, isn’t it? Of course it is – the entire wizarding world knows when you were born. You’ll just have to wait until I see you to get your gift.

I went to the wizarding district in Rome yesterday. Guess what? Magic carpets are not illegal in Italy. Guess what I bought? I’m trying to figure out how to smuggle it into Britain. Mother will not be pleased if we are stopped at customs.

Maybe I could figure out a way to send it to you, and then you could send it back to me when I get home. What do you think?

Malfoy

*************************

Friday, 1 August

Malfoy,

Oh yeah – like I need to have the Ministry on my back about having an illegal magical item. Forget it, Malfoy.

Potter

*****************************

Sunday, 3 August

Potter,

You’re turning into Granger! What happened to your utter disregard for rules, as Snape is so fond of saying? Ponce!

Malfoy

****************************

Tuesday, 5 August

Malfoy,

I told you before – I only break rules for a good cause. Helping you smuggle something illegal into Britain isn’t a good cause, you prat!

If you manage to get it into Britain, can I try it?

Potter

*******************************

Thursday, 7 August

Potter,

You absolutely may not try it since you won’t help me. Besides, you would have to come to the mansion, and under the circumstances that’s unlikely.

Malfoy

******************************

Saturday, 9 August

Malfoy,

If you can smuggle it into Britain, Hogwarts should be easy.

Potter

*******************************

Monday, 11 August

Potter,

Yes, and Dumbledore would allow us to use it on the Quidditch pitch, I’m sure. In case you can’t hear the sarcasm, I’ll tell you it’s there.

If you’re only going to write me letters with one sentence, don’t bother.

Malfoy

*******************************

Friday, 15 August

Malfoy,

You said not to bother you with one sentence letters, but it’s so boring around here it’s hard to think of something to write about. Are you still in Italy? I’ve never really travelled. I’d like to do that after I leave Hogwarts. If I live that long, of course.

We actually had a party a couple of weeks ago for my birthday and Ginny’s. Hers is the day after mine. Mrs. Weasley made it really nice even though it was mostly adults. I’d never had a birthday party before. When is your birthday?

Ginny’s great, of course, but I don’t suppose you want to hear about my love life. Or Ron and Hermione, for that matter. But you might be interested to know that Hermione’s been doing some research this summer and has actually found something – interesting. I can’t tell you about it in a letter, though.

Fred’s getting better. He’s been home for about a week now – well, actually, he’s staying here – I guess so his mother can fuss over him. George is staying here, too, and he’s finally starting to smile again.

We aren’t going to be allowed to go to Diagon Alley to get our stuff for school. I’ll have to have Remus or Mrs. Weasley get it for me. I hate being cooped up. At least at Hogwarts I’ll be able to get outside some.

I can’t think of anything else to tell you. Is this letter long enough? Prat.

Potter

*******************************

Friday, 22 August

Potter,

Your life does sound extremely boring, but at least you have someone to talk to. Zabini came to visit me this week, which temporarily relieved my own boredom.

Mother is taking me to Diagon Alley on Tuesday, and I think Zabini is going to try to meet us there. I’m looking forward to looking at the brooms – Cleansweep is supposed to have a model that’s faster than the Firebolt, but I have my doubts. I wish you could come and give me your opinion.

I suppose there’s not much point in further owls since we’ll see each other in a matter of days.

Malfoy

*******************************

Wednesday, 27 August

Malfoy,

So did you buy a new broom? You still won’t be able to beat me, you know.

I won’t be riding the train to Hogwarts, for obvious reasons. Maybe we can meet for a few minutes after the feast? I’ve got some things to tell you.

Potter

************************************************************************

************************************************************************

Draco couldn’t disguise his surprise when he went down to breakfast the day before he was to leave for Hogwarts. His father was sitting at the table, calmly eating blood pudding and sausages. He quickly arranged his expression so it was beaming with pleasure, and exclaimed, “Father! You’re home!”

“A little less jubilance at the breakfast table, if you please,” Lucius said in a quiet, but commanding voice, as if he had been there every morning for the past year.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Draco said, making his voice submissive. “I’m just – pleased.” Draco helped himself to toast and sausages from the sideboard, and took his place at the table. His head whirled with questions, but sensed they would not be welcome; his father would tell him what he wanted him to know when he was ready. He settled his face into an impassive expression and began to eat.

When Lucius finished eating, he banished his plate and silver to the sideboard with a wave of his wand and folded his hands elegantly on the table. “Draco.”

Draco put down his silver and gave his father his full attention. “Yes, Father?”

“I have heard some disturbing things about your activities at school. My Lord is not pleased. He is concerned that your loyalties may be divided.”

Draco inclined his head arrogantly and said, “I am a Malfoy. My loyalties are to my family first.”

Lucius murmured something, and Draco’s head was forced into a position in which his father could look him straight in the eye. “And what of the Dark Lord?”

Draco tried to twist his head away, but couldn’t. He finally said, “My loyalties lie with my family. If the Malfoy Family supports the Dark Lord, then I, as a Malfoy, can do no less.”

It seemed Draco saw relief in his father’s eyes as he felt his head released. He resisted the urge to rub the soreness in his neck, and continued to meet his father’s gaze.

“What of this friendship you seem to have formed with Potter?”

Draco took a deep breath, and schooled his features to be expressionless. “I thought it might be useful,” he said with a shrug. “Potter is beginning to trust me. I thought I might be able to pass along some useful information if I was in the right circles at school. Potter seems to be a direct link to Dumbledore.”

“And have you learned anything … useful?”

Draco sighed, and rolled his eyes slightly to feign frustration. “Not really. He’s only just starting to trust me, and Dumbledore seems to think he’s too young to know what’s going on in his Order.” He spat the last word, as if in disgust.

Lucius nodded slowly, without breaking his gaze. “The Dark Lord thinks your relationship with Potter could be useful, but not to gather information. You will continue to earn his trust, and when the Dark Lord commands it, you will bring Potter to him. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father.”

His father stared into his eyes for a long moment before finally looking away. “Yes,” he said, picking a bit of fluff from his sleeve. “I believe you will obey. However, my life is at stake, as well as the life of my only heir. I cannot afford to take any chances.” He stood suddenly, knocking his chair to the floor and brandishing his wand. “Imperio!”


	22. The Connection

“Though one may be overpowered,

two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”

Ecclesiastes 4:12

Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione looked up from their conversation at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall when the other students began to file in. “Looks like the train has arrived,” Ginny observed.

The four friends had Apparated to a point just outside the Hogwarts gates an hour earlier and had been escorted to the castle by no less than eight Order members. All had Apparated illegally; Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been unable to leave Grimmauld Place over the summer to get their licenses, and Ginny was still underage.

“It was sort of nice getting here before everyone else,” said Ron, absently rubbing one of Hermione’s hands between his as they watched the students walking to their house tables and greeting their friends. Neville waved as soon as he entered the Hall and hurried over to them, followed closely by Dean and Seamus.

“You lot weren’t on the train, were you?” said Neville, obviously pleased to see them.

“Security,” grumbled Harry with a shrug and an eye roll. He had been a bit disappointed to miss his last opportunity to ride the train to school, but at least he had been with his friends.

“Congratulations, Hermione,” said Seamus. “I’m glad a Gryffindor got Head Girl.”

“No one’s surprised, of course,” said Dean, grinning at Hermione.

“Thanks.” Hermione’s cheeks turned a bit pink. “Who’s Head Boy?”

“Zabini,” said Neville with a grimace, nodding toward the door.

Zabini was just entering the Great Hall, seeming to puff his chest out a bit where the Head Boy badge gleamed brightly. He was followed closely by Malfoy. Harry couldn’t help a huge grin when he saw his friend, but restrained himself from waving to get Malfoy’s attention. Malfoy looked up and caught Harry’s eye; he seemed to be trying to scowl at him but unable to manage it. Finally he settled for a small smile and a nod. Harry nodded back and then turned back to his other friends.

Ginny was glaring in the direction of the Slytherin table. Harry squeezed her hand to get her attention. “I can’t believe you really like him,” she said, still looking across the room.

“I like you better,” whispered Harry, and she finally turned her eyes to him and gave him one of the smiles he lived for. He wanted to kiss her, but couldn’t bring himself to do it in front of the entire school, so he settled for brushing her hair out of her eyes. “You know,” he said, “Malfoy only tolerates Ron and Hermione, but he really likes you.”

“Really?” Ginny gushed, batting her eyelids in mock flattery. “I’m so honoured!”

“Oi,” said Ron, “do you think there’s fewer students this year?”

Harry looked around. Most everyone had been seated by this time, and the tables did indeed appear to be emptier, especially the Slytherin table.

“Nott, Crabbe, Parkinson, and Bulstrode are gone,” Seamus reported, looking toward the Slytherin table. “Rumour says they’ve gone to Durmstrang.”

“I think they’ve become Death Eaters,” said Neville quietly. Everyone within earshot turned to look at him. “Well, I don’t know, but it makes sense. They’re of age now.”

“That’s how rumours get started,” Hermione chastised.

“Well, I said I didn’t know,” said Neville, turning a bit pink.

“You know he’s probably right,” said Ron, nudging Hermione gently with his elbow. “I wonder about Goyle, though. Is he a spy or something?”

“He’s too stupid to be a spy,” Harry countered, looking over to where Goyle sat alone at the Slytherin table. He looked odd without his constant companion of six years.

“What’s up with them?” asked Ginny, indicating four boys at the Ravenclaw table. Their heads were close together as if they were talking quietly among themselves and all appeared very upset. Harry recognized Michael Corner, Terry Boot, and Anthony Goldstein from the Defence Association; he didn’t know the fourth boy’s name.

“Stephen Cornfoot quit school and became a Death Eater over the holiday,” said Dean, leaning forward and speaking in hushed tones as if someone had died.

“A Ravenclaw?” said Ron, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“Not all Death Eaters come from Slytherin,” Harry reminded them, thinking of Wormtail.

“They’re probably wondering how they could have lived with him for six years without knowing he was a traitor,” said Seamus

“That would be quite a shocker,” agreed Ron, looking up and down the Gryffindor table a little suspiciously. “You don’t think anybody from Gryffindor is thinking about joining, do you?”

All conversation halted abruptly as the headmaster stood to welcome them, but Harry didn’t hear a word of the greeting. As the Sorting Hat sang its song he looked around the room, hoping none of the other students would become Death Eaters. He gazed bemusedly at the first years, wondering if he had ever been so young and small. Most of their faces shone with innocence, nervousness, and excitement, but several pairs of eyes were hardened, evidence that these children had already seen far too much in their short lives. A lump arose in Harry’s throat and again he felt the urgency to do away with Voldemort; these children deserved to grow up in a world without war.

“You eating tonight?” Ginny whispered, squeezing his hand. Harry shook himself out of his reverie to realize the food had appeared. He forced a smile at Ginny, who smiled back with a mixture of concern and understanding, and then he went through the motions of serving himself and moving his food around on his plate.

“Like anyone for Quidditch this year?” asked Ron, looking up and down the Gryffindor table. “We have to replace Katie and Stacey.” Harry smiled, a genuine smile this time, grateful that his friend’s mind ran mainly in two tracks: Quidditch or Hermione. Ginny joined in the Quidditch speculation as Hermione rolled her eyes and continued to eat. It was nice that some things never changed.

As Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione pushed their way through the crowd to exit the Great Hall after dinner, something occurred to Harry. “There were no new staff appointments this year. Everyone’s back for once!” He looked up at the staff table where Professor Shacklebolt was standing to leave, and suddenly felt a little more hopeful. Harry would be continuing his training with the Auror and Remus, who was going to resume his quarters at the castle after spending the summer holiday at Grimmauld Place.

Just as the four friends had finally managed to get through the doors, Harry heard a familiar voice behind him say, “Nice that you left me to cover both the Head Boy and Head Girl duties on the train.”

Harry turned to see that Zabini had draped an arm around Hermione in an overly friendly fashion, and though his tone was light, his eyes were hard. Harry put his hand in his pocket to draw out his wand, but Ron was quicker. “Get your hands off of her, Zabini!” Ron growled, his wand at the Slytherin’s throat.

Zabini took a step back with his hands up, palms facing Ron. “Jealous, are you?” he said, shaking his head at Ron. “Don’t worry – I can assure you I will leave her virtue intact – she’s not exactly my type.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Ron, taking a step forward.

“Don’t say it, Zabini,” warned Malfoy, who had stepped up beside Zabini. “Weasley, put your wand away. Let’s all be friendly here.” Ron scowled darkly at both of the Slytherins, but complied. 

Malfoy raised questioning eyebrows at Zabini, who explained, “I was only trying to determine whether the Head Girl would be able to perform her duties. I’m not so sure Hogwarts should have a Head Girl with so many … security issues.”

Ron took another step forward and reached into his pocket, but Hermione stopped him with a hand on his arm. “It’s okay,” she said. “He’s right – it’s not fair to him that I wasn’t on the train. It wasn’t my fault, but it wasn’t his, either.” Hermione turned fully to Zabini and said, “I will take two of your shifts this week to make it up to you, okay?”

The Head Boy gave her a long, calculating look. “Agreed. I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow.”

Hermione nodded and gave him a small smile, and then took Ron’s hand and led the way to the marble staircase. Ginny started to follow, but Harry touched her arm to stop her. “You go ahead – I’m going to talk to Malfoy.”

“Okay,” said Ginny, giving Malfoy a suspicious look. She kissed Harry lightly and turned toward the stairs.

Harry turned back to Malfoy; Zabini had gone, presumably to the dungeons. Malfoy raised his eyebrows slightly and then turned and walked down the corridor, clearly expecting Harry to tag along. Harry struggled to keep an impassive expression as he followed Malfoy into an empty classroom. As soon as he closed the door behind them, Harry allowed his face to break into a broad grin.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me, you bloody Gryffindor.” Malfoy was obviously trying to scowl, but not quite succeeding.

“I missed you, too,” said Harry, smiling even wider. “So, did you get a broom?”

Malfoy stood a bit straighter. “Yes. I went with the Cleansweep. It’s slightly faster than the Firebolt, so your days of beating me at Quidditch are over.”

“I don’t think so,” said Harry. “Talent is more important than broom speed.”

“I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?”

“Tomorrow right after classes?” said Harry. Malfoy nodded to indicate his agreement. 

“And the magic carpet?”

“I got it into the country, no thanks to you,” said Malfoy with a dramatic sigh. “Zabini helped me, but he charged me almost as much as the carpet cost for the trouble.”

“Did you bring it to school?”

“Of course not!” Malfoy was obviously trying to sound offended, but his severe expression was ruined by the smile tugging at his lips.

“You did!” Harry shouted, his face lighting up with excitement.

Malfoy scowled and made shushing gestures, and then cast a locking and silencing charms on the door. “Merlin! You’re an idiot!”

“Can I try it?” asked Harry eagerly, ignoring Malfoy’s insult.

“Your brain must have completely leaked out of your head over the holiday,” said Malfoy, putting his hands on his hips in what appeared to be mock anger. “If I get expelled or arrested you’ll have one fewer spell caster, you know.”

Harry’s expression grew more serious as he remembered the risk Malfoy was taking by the commitment he had made to him. “I-I never really … thanked you for that, did I?” said Harry, looking at the ground.

“Don’t be stupid,” said Malfoy in a quiet voice. “It’s not like I had much choice, you know.” Harry wondered exactly what he meant by that, but didn’t want to ask. “Speaking of that,” Malfoy continued, “tell me what happened on the train. I take it the shield worked?”

Harry had generally avoided thinking about the incident on the Hogwarts Express in June, but he knew he should tell Malfoy what happened. Faltering a bit at first, Harry began to recount the event in as much detail as he could remember.

“Wait a minute,” Malfoy interrupted. “You talk like you and the Dark Lord can sense each other’s emotions.”

“We can – we’re connected somehow through my scar.”

“That’s … really interesting,” said Malfoy, eyes wide as if fascinated.

“You act like it’s fun or something,” grumbled Harry. “It isn’t.”

“No,” Malfoy said, looking past Harry as if considering the matter very seriously. “I can see how it would be a disadvantage for him to know your emotions. He would probably be able to tell if you were lying or hiding something from him.” Malfoy turned his eyes back to Harry with an intense, calculating expression that made Harry feel a bit uncomfortable. Harry suddenly remembered that Malfoy’s father was a Death Eater and for a moment it seemed insane to trust him with all of this information.

“Speaking of Voldemort and his gang,” said Harry, taking a step back from Malfoy and focusing on an invisible piece of lint on the sleeve of his robe, “it was all over the Prophet this morning that your father escaped Azkaban. Did you see him before you left?”

“Of course not,” said Malfoy, his face a mask of indifference. “My father isn’t an idiot – he wouldn’t come home when the entire Ministry is looking for him.”

It seemed that Malfoy was avoiding Harry’s gaze, but Harry shook off his suspicions. He was tired of constantly fighting the battle to persuade Ginny, Ron, and Hermione that Malfoy was trustworthy; he certainly didn’t need to begin having doubts himself.

“So tell me the rest,” said Malfoy eagerly. “How did you escape?”

“There’s not much else to tell,” said Harry with a shrug. “Voldemort and the Death Eaters tried a bunch of curses, but nothing got through. They finally gave up and left. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione kept the shield up until Remus showed up to Portkey us out.”

“It’s a bit anticlimactic,” Malfoy said with a humourless laugh. “I imagine the Dark Lord was furious.”

“Oh yes.” Harry walked over to a window and stared out at the night without seeing. “Now he knows about the spell,” Harry said without turning around. “He knows he has to get me away from my friends to kill me. Or …” Harry’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “Or he has to kill my friends.”

Malfoy was silent, and after a moment Harry turned around to look at him. He was gazing at Harry with an expression Harry had never seen before, a combination of compassion and love. “We just need to get rid of him quickly,” Malfoy said, his eyes hardening into determination. Harry was surprised and gratified by Malfoy’s use of the word “we,” including himself in Harry’s fate. “You said Granger found something interesting?”

“Yeah – she found a curse that kills the soul. It seems to be somehow similar to the dementor’s kiss.”

“That sounds promising,” said Malfoy. “The bastard wouldn’t be able to come back.”

Harry sighed. “Problem is, you have to cast the curse at the moment the soul leaves the body – at the point of death. And I still have no idea how I’m going to kill his body. The shield works both ways – I can’t cast the Killing Curse or anything else through it.”

“So maybe we can figure out a way for you to kill him without magic,” said Malfoy, his eyes narrowed as if he was thinking hard. “Or maybe we can practice lowering the shield just long enough for you to cast a spell.”

“I don’t like that idea. Lowering the shield would expose the spell casters. You lot have already done enough for me – I won’t put you in more danger.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Get over yourself, Potter. You need to accept that we’ll do whatever needs to be done – just as you will.” Harry nodded, but was totally unconvinced. He knew he would refuse to expose his friends to more danger, even if it meant he had to face Voldemort without his protection charm.

Malfoy gazed at him with an unreadable expression for a moment, as if expecting him to say something, and then finally looked away uncomfortably. “Well, I’d better get to the dungeons before the Head Boy gives me detention,” he said as he pulled out his wand. He lowered the wards on the room and opened the door.

“Okay,” said Harry with a shrug as he moved to follow him from the room. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Malfoy turned and nodded to Harry as he left the room, and then headed quickly toward the dungeon stairs. Harry hurried up the marble staircase toward Gryffindor Tower, pondering the odd conversation as he went. Malfoy seemed different somehow, though Harry couldn’t put a finger on it. He shrugged it off as he reached the familiar portrait of the fat lady; maybe it was normal to feel a bit awkward after only communicating through letters for over two months.

Ron was sitting on his bed in his pyjamas when he walked into the dormitory, obviously waiting up for him. Three of the other four beds had their curtains closed; presumably Neville, Seamus, and Dean were asleep. “Took you long enough,” Ron complained. “I was about to go looking for you.”

Harry rolled his eyes, unwilling to fight the old battle tonight. “I haven’t seen him all summer, Ron. We had a lot of catching up to do.” He glanced around the room briefly and then gave Ron a meaningful look, hoping to communicate that he and Malfoy had talked about the Trilixicis Charm and the curse Hermione had found, and that he couldn’t tell Ron that in the dormitory with the other three present.

“I suppose you did,” Ron said grudgingly, looking away. “I still can’t believe you trust him, though.”

“Don’t start, Ron. You know why I do, and we’ve had this discussion a hundred times.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Ron, pulling back his covers and sliding into bed. “I’m just … tired.” He sighed and settled in, but his eyes remained wide open. Harry turned to fish his own pyjamas out of his trunk. He knew something else was bothering his friend, and that he would tell him as soon as he was ready.

Ron stared at a spot just past Harry as he changed. Harry had stuffed his robes into his trunk, gotten into bed, and stowed his glasses on the nightstand before Ron finally spoke. “You know, I’m really happy for Hermione getting Head Girl and all, but I don’t like her having to work so closely with that Slytherin prat.”

“Just last year you said Zabini wasn’t a bad bloke,” Harry reminded him.

“That was before he put his bloody paws on my girlfriend,” Ron said in a tight voice. “Did you know he tried to go out with Ginny last year? He’s just such a cocky arse … it’s like he thinks everyone should bow at his feet or something … he tries to charm all the girls ...”

“If you’re saying he’s trying to shag every girl in the school, I think you might be right,” said Harry with a bitter laugh. “But you know you’ve got nothing to worry about, Ron. Hermione loves you.”

“Yeah, I know – it’s him I don’t trust – not her. If he touches her again …” Ron shook his fist in the air.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Harry, hoping he sounded reassuring. “I can talk to Malfoy about it if it would make you feel better – they’re mates, you know.”

“Like I would want to be indebted to him – no thanks.” Harry shrugged and Ron rolled to his back, crossing his arms behind his head. “It’s good to be back, though, really.”

“Yeah,” agreed Harry with a smile.

********************************************

On the first Thursday of classes, Harry slipped Malfoy a bundle wrapped awkwardly in paper just before Potions class began. “It’s my cloak,” he explained in a whisper. “We have a meeting tonight in Dumbledore’s office at seven. Use the cloak to get there. The password is ‘chocolate frog’.” Malfoy only had time to nod and stuff the package into his book bag before Snape swept into the room and began the lecture.

Malfoy was the last to arrive that evening. He walked over to Harry and held out a neatly folded invisibility cloak, but Harry shook his head and said, “You need to get back to the dungeons later – just give it to me tomorrow.” Malfoy nodded and took his seat. Ron caught Harry’s eye and gave him a glare; Harry knew he was annoyed that he would trust Malfoy with something as valuable as his invisibility cloak, but Harry only rolled his eyes and looked away.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk beaming at them all in welcome. “Before we begin this evening, I understand that we have a few things to discuss.”

Hermione raised her hand as if she was in class, but Malfoy was quicker. “Why isn’t Harry taking Occlumency lessons?” he blurted, ignoring Hermione’s hand. Everyone gaped at him in surprise; Harry shifted uncomfortably. Malfoy crossed his arms defensively and said, “Well, it would make sense – he says the Dark Lord can sense his emotions – he needs to learn to block him out.”

“You told him that?” Ron said to Harry, his expression horrified.

“Harry!” Ginny said in protest.

“I trust him!” stated Harry to the room at large, ignoring the titters of disapproval. He conveniently ignored the fact that Malfoy had asked the question because Harry hadn’t told him one of his secrets. He shot Dumbledore a pleading look and the headmaster nodded at him almost imperceptibly.

“Harry has been taking Occlumency lessons for over a year from me,” Dumbledore paused for just the briefest of moments, as if hesitating, “and from Professor Snape.”

Malfoy gaped for a moment, and finally said, “But Snape’s a Death Eater!”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said with a gentle nod, “but Professor Snape is also a trusted member of the Order of the Phoenix.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and quirked one eyebrow in disbelief. “How do you know he’s not only pretending to be on your side?”

“That is a private matter between Professor Snape and myself,” said Dumbledore.

Malfoy gave a snort that was obviously derisive, but Harry suddenly realized something. “Snape brewed the potion that revealed my spell casters – he’s known about you from the beginning, Malfoy. What do you think would have happened if Snape had told Voldemort about you?”

Malfoy’s eyes widened in shock, fear, and anger. “I would have been killed!” he exclaimed, rising to his feet. “So much for trusting me, Potter – why didn’t you tell me about Snape? I think I deserved to know who I was trusting my life with!”

“It wasn’t his secret to tell, Draco,” said Dumbledore in a calm voice. “Take your seat and I will answer your question more fully.” Malfoy shot Harry an angry glare and complied.

The headmaster continued, “Harry’s Occlumency skills are considerable, but his connection with Voldemort is very strong. Harry can protect himself from Voldemort’s mental probing as long as there is some distance between them, but he may never be able to protect himself when they are in close proximity.” Draco nodded, but still appeared angry, and seemed to be avoiding Harry’s eyes.

“Now, Hermione,” said Dumbledore, “I believe you had something to say?”

“Yes Professor Dumbledore,” said Hermione, biting her lip as if nervous. “I found a curse that can destroy a soul in a book I was reading over the holiday. I thought perhaps if Harry used that Voldemort wouldn’t be able to come back again.”

Dumbledore gazed at Hermione for a moment with an unreadable look, and then glanced at Harry before turning back to Hermione. “Did you bring the book with you?”

Hermione wordlessly pulled a cloth bundle out of her ever-present book bag and handed it to Dumbledore. As he began to unwrap it, she quickly said, “Be careful of the stinger, Sir.” Harry, Ginny, Ron, Remus, and Mrs. Weasley all cringed; Harry remembered how even with the antidote Hermione had vomited for two days and hadn’t been able to eat for almost a week after handling the book.

The headmaster used his wand to unwrap the book and then cast a complicated-sounding charm over it. “Page one hundred seventy-four,” supplied Hermione. Dumbledore turned to the indicated page and read it, his eyes moving back and forth rapidly.

Finally he looked up, glanced at each of them in turn, his eyes lingering a bit longer on Harry, and sighed as he settled his gaze on Hermione. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” he said. “This is a very good idea, and I appreciate your research, but this spell cannot be used to destroy Voldemort.”

“But it will work!” Hermione exclaimed, her nervousness disappearing in her intensity. “I know it will!”

“Oh, I have no doubt that it will work,” said Dumbledore. He looked down briefly at the open book, and when he raised his head the twinkle had completely disappeared from his eyes.

“Then what’s the problem, Albus?” Remus asked, his face reflecting the confusion of everyone else in the room.

Dumbledore removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He looked tired and ill, and Harry was suddenly reminded of the wards around the castle, wondering if they had continued to disintegrate over the summer months.

After a moment, the headmaster replaced his glasses and looked sadly at Remus. “That curse, successfully cast, would not only result in the destruction of Voldemort’s soul, but most likely a very painful death for Harry.”

Harry barely heard all the gasps around him because he was reeling in his own shock. He was vaguely conscious of Remus asking, “Why, Albus?”

Dumbledore looked down at his desk, as if unable to face them. “From what I’ve been able to gather, I believe that Tom Riddle’s soul resides inside of Harry.”

***************************************

Author’s Notes: First of all, thanks so much to my readers who have stuck with me thus far. I’m getting near the end, and intend to finish before “Half-Blood Prince”. Thanks especially to those who take the time to review.

Thanks to Swishandflick, Gianfar, and Carfiniel for the beta reads – you guys are wonderful.

I am no longer in Walpurgis Night, but Carfiniel (Innerslytherin on LiveJournal) and I have started a new role playing game called “Artifice” with original characters. Here’s a link if you’re interested: http://www.greatestjournal.com/community/artifice_rpg/


	23. Spirit and Soul

Though one may be overpowered,  
two can defend themselves.  
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

Ecclesiastes 4:12

*******************************

Dumbledore looked down at his desk, as if unable to face them. “From what I’ve been able to gather, I believe that Tom Riddle’s soul resides inside of Harry.”

“What?” Harry shouted, barely able to hear himself over the shouts of angry disbelief all around him. That couldn’t be true; Harry would know if he had someone else inside him, wouldn’t he? His whirling mind suddenly locked onto a memory of another time in Dumbledore’s office, in his fifth year, and an odd instrument that had produced a smoky snake that had split into two while Harry had watched. He looked down at his own torso as if he could determine whether the unwanted presence was really there.

“You’re wrong!” shouted Ginny, her shrill voice rising to the surface of the noise. Her hands were clenched on the arm of her chair as if she were holding herself there. Harry longed to comfort her, but he was oddly reluctant to touch her or anyone else for fear that he might contaminate them. “Harry’s not …”

“Then what does Voldemort have?” Ron interrupted, rising to his feet to be heard. “I mean, I saw him – he walks and talks – he definitely has a soul!”

“No, Ron,” said Dumbledore, raising his head and gazing at Ron with tears in his eyes, “Voldemort has a spirit, but not a soul.”

“But I thought they were the same thing,” said Mrs. Weasley. Harry supposed he had believed that, too, but his mind was still spinning. It settled for a moment on another time in fifth year when he had felt a surge of hatred toward Dumbledore, and his stomach clenched painfully at the realization.

“They are, essentially,” said Dumbledore. “In a normal person the terms can be used interchangeably. But Voldemort had performed numerous experimental spells on himself in an effort to achieve immortality. The Killing Curse that rebounded from Harry should have killed Voldemort’s body and sent his spirit and soul to the afterlife. Instead, his spirit and soul were split apart. His spirit floated away, and, as I understand it, ended up in Romania. His soul went to the only host available.”

“Me,” whispered Harry, feeling nauseated, as if his body was suddenly rejecting the foreign soul. He clenched his hands together in his lap and willed himself not to vomit.

“How long have you known about this?” asked Mrs. Weasley, her face stained with tears.

Dumbledore blinked rapidly for a moment before answering. “I’ve suspected it since Harry’s fifth year,” he said, his eyes shifting over them nervously, apparently unwilling to settle on any of them, “but I became certain of it when I joined in his Occlumency tutoring last spring. I can occasionally sense the foreign presence in Harry’s mind.”

Harry wanted to ask Dumbledore why he hadn’t told him, why he had kept this horrible fact from him, but his stomach was so upset that he couldn’t be certain only words would come out if he opened his mouth. Besides, he didn’t know why he should bother to ask; Dumbledore had kept so many things from him in the past that this deception was certainly no surprise.

“How has this affected Harry?” asked Remus in a hoarse voice, as if he were struggling to keep his control.

Dumbledore sighed and looked at Remus, obviously avoiding Harry’s eyes. “There is no way to know,” he said. “I suspect that if Harry had been an adult, or perhaps even a few years older, his soul would have fought against the invading soul and it would have likely caused insanity. I am assuming that since Harry’s mind and body had no way to cope with a foreign, fully adult presence, that Voldemort’s soul was forced to revert back to a childlike state and grow and develop alongside Harry’s own. I have sensed in Harry’s mind that now the two souls are so intertwined they would be almost impossible to separate.”

“So you’re saying we’d have to kill Harry to destroy Voldemort’s soul?” said Ginny in a choked voice.

Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly as if in pain and then nodded. “If the curse Hermione found was performed at the point of Voldemort’s death, it would likely cause Voldemort’s soul to be forcibly removed from Harry. Not only would this be very painful, but Harry’s soul would probably be dragged from his body as well, causing Harry to be left without a soul at all.”

“Like the victim of a dementor’s kiss,” whispered Harry. He heard someone stifle a sob, but he was too busy staring at Dumbledore to see who it was.

“Wait a minute,” said Malfoy, “you said ‘likely’ and ‘probably’. How do you know for sure?”

“There’s no way to know for certain,” Dumbledore acknowledged. “To my knowledge, nothing like this has ever happened before.”

“So Harry might not be killed?” gasped Ron in a hopeful tone.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. “It’s not worth the risk.”

“Agreed,” said Remus.

“I’ll keep looking,” said Hermione in a determined tone. “We’ll find another way.”

Harry watched the others nod in agreement but he shook his head. “No!” he almost shouted. “It is worth the risk! We’re talking about ending a war and you people are worried about one life!”

“Harry,” said Dumbledore gently, “no matter what is at stake, I can’t approve a course of action that would likely end your life.”

“But what kind of life can I have as long as he’s alive?” demanded Harry. “I can’t go anywhere without at least three of my spell casters, the lives of the people I love most are constantly at risk … No! We need to end this – I need to end this NOW!”

“Harry!” Ginny gasped, tears running down her cheeks. Harry glanced at her briefly but had to look away and steel himself against her pain.

“And even if I only kill him, and don’t destroy his soul,” Harry said, rising to his feet, “he’ll COME BACK. Maybe he’ll come back in five years, when I’ve got a good career as an Auror going. Or maybe he’ll come back in ten years, when I’m married and have a couple of kids. I can’t STAND the thought of living my whole life HIDING from him or WAITING for him to come back. THIS ENDS NOW!”

“Stop being such a tragic hero!” said Malfoy. “Sit down and shut up!”

Harry only barely heard the gasps of outrage as he turned his glare toward Malfoy. “Bugger off, Malfoy!” he yelled, angrily taking a step toward him.

“Harry!” said Mrs. Weasley in a shocked tone. Harry rolled his eyes, annoyed that she would be worried about his language at a time like this.

Remus stood up and put his hands on Harry’s shoulders. Harry started to shrug out of his grasp, but then looked up at him and was frozen by the look of pain in his eyes. “You’re right, Harry, we need to end this, but be patient. Let us keep looking. We’ll find something.”

Harry gazed at Remus for another moment, unconvinced, but he knew it would do no one any good for him to run off and find Voldemort straight away, so he finally slumped back into his chair and crossed his arms, glaring at Malfoy.

Remus grasped Harry’s shoulder and squeezed once, and then resumed his seat. “Albus, couldn’t we find a spell that would separate the two souls in Harry’s body ahead of time?”

Dumbledore nodded gravely. “I hope so. I have been looking for a combination of potions and charms that will accomplish just that. With your permission, Harry, I would like to solicit the assistance of Professors Snape and Flitwick.”

Harry shrugged and nodded his reluctant permission, hating that Snape would know about this, but acknowledging that they needed all the expertise they could obtain.

“However,” Dumbledore continued, “I will warn you that the effects of such a process could be quite uncomfortable for you.”

“What do you mean by ‘uncomfortable’?” asked Mrs. Weasley, but Harry shook his head firmly.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, looking Dumbledore in the eye. “I can live with being uncomfortable.”

Dumbledore returned his intense gaze for a long moment, and Harry felt the familiar tugging at the edges of his mind. He focused solely on his determination to destroy Voldemort, hoping Dumbledore would have no doubt of his resolve. Finally, the headmaster nodded his head slightly and said, “You are an incredible young man, Harry. Your parents would be very proud.” Harry nodded, unable to speak. “Now,” said Dumbledore, rubbing his hands together and looking around at the others, “we need to review the Trilixicis Charm.”

************************************************

“Okay – what do you think, now?” Ron asked, pushing his Potions essay toward Hermione.

Harry and Ron had left their homework for the last moment, as usual, but Harry felt they had a legitimate excuse this time. It was the third week of September and Ron had wanted to get a head start on Quidditch, so they had held tryouts over the weekend, and had already had a practice that week with their new Chaser and Beater.

Hermione had checked over Ron’s essay and had given him some things to correct, but now she pushed it back to him impatiently. “If you changed the things I told you, Ron, you should have at least an E.”

“Can’t you look at it again?” Ron pleaded.

“I’m busy,” said Hermione, “and you shouldn’t have left it so late. It’s your own fault.”

“Fine,” said Ron, his ears turning red. “I’m going to bed.” He gathered up his things and stuffed them angrily into his bag. “Coming Harry?”

“In a bit,” said Harry. “I’ve got a few more inches.”

Malfoy had given him a few pointers on the assignment the day before, but Harry was still struggling with it. He had hoped to ask Hermione to look his over, too, but after her reaction to Ron he thought it might be better to see if Malfoy could read it at breakfast.

“Okay,” said Ron, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Good night, Harry.”

Harry rolled his eyes as Ron stalked away. Hermione looked up briefly with a sad expression, but then sighed and returned to her work. As if he had heard her soft sigh, Ron stopped just before he reached the stairs and let out a sigh of his own. He turned around, walked back to Hermione’s chair, and gently touched her face. “Night, Love,” he whispered.

Hermione turned her face into Ron’s hand and Harry looked away as Ron bent toward her.

Ron finally went upstairs; Harry and Hermione continued to work in silence for the next half hour. Ginny had gone to bed long ago, and by the time Harry put the final words on his essay, the common room was empty.

Harry stuffed the parchment into his book bag, stood, stretched, and glanced at his watch. “It’s almost Midnight, Hermione,” he said. “I’m going to bed – what about you?”

“In a little bit,” Hermione said absently.

“What are you working on? You’re not already studying for N.E.W.T.s, are you?”

“It’s never too early to study for N.E.W.T.s, Harry,” she said, looking up at him, “but no – this is the project I’ve been working on for Professor Vector since last fall.”

Harry walked to her chair and looked over her shoulder. “It looks like a bunch of math problems.”

“It’s arithmancy, Harry.” Harry couldn’t see her face, but he was sure she was rolling her eyes. “We’re very close to figuring out exactly what makes the wards around the castle work.”

“What?” said Harry, his eyes narrowing in confusion as he looked at the rows upon rows of complicated calculations. “How can ma- I mean arithmancy tell you anything about that?”

“Well, we’ve used this set of calculations to determine which protection charm each of the founders put on the castle. Salazar Slytherin’s was really quite nasty – more of a hex than a charm. Rowena Ravenclaw’s was the most difficult to figure out, and I kept getting distracted by the movement of the staircases. Did you know you can actually predict the movement of every staircase in the castle with precise calculations?

“This next page shows the wards Headmaster Keane constructed in 1264 to encompass what we now know as the Quidditch pitch and part of the Forbidden Forest. In 1547, Headmaster Teague added another layer to those. There have been a few other layers added since then, but they have been far less complicated than the first six.

“I probably shouldn’t be telling you this since it’s a top secret project, but I think it’s ever so interesting, and I know you won’t tell anyone.”

Harry had settled in the chair next to her as she was speaking, resigning himself to being there awhile. He had nodded and tried to look interested during Hermione’s monologue, but he found his mind drifting. The frustration in her voice as she continued gained his attention, however.

“There’s one part we can’t figure out, though, one thing that ties all the different layers of wards together and allows them to act in tandem. That missing piece refuses to be decoded with arithmancy – it’s almost like it’s something … organic … I don’t know.” Hermione shrugged.

“You know,” said Harry slowly, as if they information was being dragged from him, “I didn’t want to tell you all this because I didn’t want to worry you, but the wards have been weakening since last fall.”

“Harry!” said Hermione with an exasperated expression. “Why do you insist on keeping things … wait a minute – the wards have been weakening?” Harry nodded, and Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she puzzled over this. “Professor Dumbledore must have wanted Professor Vector to analyse the wards because he knew they were weakening, and Professor Vector must not have wanted to worry me, either.”

“Odd that he never mentioned that,” said Harry. “He’s talked about the wards weakening in Order meetings, but never told us that someone was working on it. It’s killing him, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Hermione, obviously a bit shocked.

“Haven’t you noticed how bad he’s getting, Hermione?” he said, his expression turning sombre. “The wards are tied directly to his health, and he’s been weakening as they have.”

“Are you sure?” cried Hermione, her eyes widening with alarm and filling with tears. “I thought he was just getting old! Oh Harry, he can’t die!” After a moment, she recovered and furrowed her brow in concentration as if she could single-handedly save Dumbledore’s life if she could only figure it out. “You know, this might be the missing piece that’s been eluding us. The health of the headmaster …” Her words trailed off as her eyes glazed over a bit in apparent concentration. “Yes, I think that would fit,” she continued, “but it doesn’t make sense that Professor Vector didn’t know about that. Why didn’t he tell her?”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe he only needed the bits you already figured out. Maybe he doesn’t completely trust her.” His eyes flew open as another possibility occurred to him. “Maybe he never asked her to analyse them at all. Maybe she’s a traitor.”

“Of course she’s not,” said Hermione matter-of-factly.

“How do you know?”

“I know her, Harry – you don’t. She’s a good person.”

“We’ve been fooled by teachers before,” said Harry dubiously. “It makes sense, if you think about it. It sounds like the wards started weakening about the time you all started on this project. Professor Vector could be passing the information to the Death Eaters or even taking the wards down herself. It would explain a lot, including why she doesn’t know about the tie to Dumbledore’s heath, and why Dumbledore hasn’t mentioned your project.”

“No!” insisted Hermione, shaking her head. “It’s not possible – she’s not capable of that. You don’t know her, Harry.”

“Well, maybe it’s not her,” Harry conceded, hoping for her sake that she was right, “but I still think we should go to Dumbledore about this.” He stood and said, “Come on.”

“Now?” Hermione’s eyes flew open as she looked up at Harry. “It’s the middle of the night!”

“If I’m right, Hermione, you could be in danger. Besides, you’re the one who always wants to talk to him about things.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t go,” said Hermione with a scowl, “I just didn’t understand why we needed to go at Midnight. But if you insist, I suppose we may as well get it over with.”

Harry retrieved his invisibility cloak and they made their way awkwardly to Dumbledore’s office. The friends had grown too tall to share the cloak with any ease, and Harry felt the chill of Hermione’s irritation more severely because of the close proximity.

Harry gave the password to the gargoyle and pulled off the invisibility cloak when it closed behind them. They ascended the spiral staircase in uncomfortable silence, and Harry felt relieved when he could finally pound on the door to the headmaster’s office. Dumbledore opened the door within seconds, dressed in a bright purple dressing gown and huge orange fuzzy slippers.

“Harry, Hermione, what brings you here at this late hour?” Dumbledore asked pleasantly.

“Sorry, Professor,” said Harry. “We needed to talk to you, and it couldn’t wait until morning.”

“By all means – come in.” Dumbledore stepped out of the way so they could enter, shut the door behind them, and then ambled slowly to his desk, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Hermione’s been working on a project with Professor Vector for almost a year,” explained Harry as he and Hermione took seats in front of Dumbledore’s desk. “Show him, Hermione.”

Hermione pulled the parchments out of her bag, looked through them and shifted some around, and then laid the pile on Dumbledore’s desk. “It’s the wards, Sir – you know – you asked Professor Vector to analyse them using arithmancy.”

Dumbledore looked through the parchments, his expression becoming more and more grave as he examined Hermione’s work. Finally, he fixed Hermione with a piercing gaze and said, “I did not ask Professor Vector to do any such thing.”

“Y-you didn’t?” Hermione said, beginning to look a little panicked.

“No, Hermione, I did not. I have no wish to jump to conclusions, but I must wonder why Professor Vector would take it upon herself to do this.”

“I thought she was trying to help you,” said Hermione, wringing her hands in her lap restlessly.

“I think she’s spying for Voldemort and taking down the wards,” said Harry, anger blossoming in his stomach as he realized that Hermione had been deceived.

Dumbledore nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I think it may be helpful, Hermione, if you relate to me exactly what she told you and what you’ve been working on.”

“I think everything I’ve worked on is there in my notes,” said Hermione, managing to look both puzzled and sad at the same time.

“Yes, and it is impressive work,” said the headmaster. “How did it come about?”

Hermione sighed heavily. “Professor Vector held me back after class one day last October. She told me I was her most promising student, even more so than any of the seventh years. I’ve always liked her, so I was honoured when she asked me to work on a project with her.

“She said you wanted her to find a way to strengthen the wards in case Voldemort decided to attack here. She said the wards were so ancient that even you didn’t know exactly how they were structured, and that the best way to find out how charms and spells are put together is through arithmancy.”

Hermione paused for a moment, closing her eyes briefly and shaking her head. “I can’t believe she did this, and that she involved me,” she said, anger and hurt flashing in her eyes. Her expression softened into remorse as she said, “I’m so sorry, Professor – I feel really stupid.”

Dumbledore shook his head slightly and gave Hermione a tiny smile. “As you know, even I have been deceived by professors. It has nothing to do with intelligence.”

“I didn’t see any reason not to believe her,” said Hermione, looking at Dumbledore with pleading eyes. “She had been my teacher for three years, and I had talked with her several times outside of class.”

Dumbledore nodded his head in agreement. “Until today I knew of no reason not to trust her. Of course, our association has not been as long as some of the other professors, which is why she is not a member of the Order of the Phoenix.” He paused for a moment and then said, “Did she ever ask you about Harry?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Yes, she did,” she said as though surprised. Her eyes narrowed as she puzzled over that. “Maybe I should have known since she asked about Harry,” she murmured, almost inaudibly.

“Or you might have believed she was asking you about him because he is your close friend,” said Dumbledore with a shrug.

“Yes,” said Hermione a bit absently as she appeared to be searching her memories. “She asked me about Ron, too, so I suppose I didn’t really think much about it when she asked about Harry.”

“What did you tell Professor Vector about Harry?” Dumbledore prodded gently.

“I didn’t tell her about the prophecy or the Trilixicis Charm, if that’s what you mean,” Hermione said quickly. “She mostly asked me why he lived as a baby, why Voldemort seemed to want to kill him, what it’s like being friends with someone so famous – things like that. Things that Lavender, Parvati, and other people ask me all the time.”

Harry felt a bit bemused that people continued to ask his best friend about him after all these years, but he had more important things on which to focus. “So are you going to turn Vector in to the Ministry?” asked Harry, angry and eager to see Hermione vindicated.

Dumbledore gazed at Harry with unreadable eyes for a few moments, and then looked at Hermione. “No,” he said, dragging out the syllable a bit, “I think we could better use this information to our advantage if we kept Professor Vector here at the castle.”

“What?” said Harry with narrowed eyes. ”Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Perhaps,” said the headmaster, turning to Hermione. “Do you think you could continue to work with Professor Vector under these circumstances?”

“Are you serious?” Hermione said, obviously taken aback. Then her eyes widened slowly and a devious smile crept across her face. “You mean for me to report back to you,” she said, nodding.

Harry couldn’t help a smile at the irony. “Spying on the spy,” he said. He frowned, however, as another thought occurred to him. “Doesn’t that put Hermione in too much danger?”

“I can do it,” said Hermione, her eyes hardening in determination. “She’ll never know.”

“I don’t know, Hermione,” said Harry, shaking his head. “What if Vector finds out? She might hurt you.”

“I’m doing this,” said Hermione with a nod. “I put the whole school in danger because of my gullibility. I need to do this – to fix this.”

“Hermione, I am not asking you to do this as reparation. I am simply taking advantage of a tactical opportunity,” said Dumbledore.

“But if Professor Vector figures out about the missing piece, she’ll take down the wards, and that will kill you!” Harry cried.

Harry was glad to see a tiny twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes as he shook his head and said, “Actually, I want Hermione to tell Professor Vector about the link to my health. I have an idea.”

************************************************

Harry doubled over and grabbed his midsection, shouting as if in extreme pain, while furtively looking around the common room to ensure plenty of people noticed him.

“Are you all right, Harry?” asked Ginny, her face schooled into a concerned expression.

“I don’t know,” Harry gasped, letting his body fall onto the sofa next to her.

“I think we need to get you to the hospital wing,” said Ron in an unnaturally loud voice.

“No, I’ll be okay.” Harry made his voice sound strained. “I probably just ate something that didn’t agree with me at dinner.”

Hermione got up from her chair by the fire and hurried over to Harry, a worried look plastered on her face. “I’m not so sure,” she said, leaning over to peer at his face. “The Maglican Flu starts out with stomach cramps and a fever.” She touched the back of her hand to his forehead and said, “Yes, I think we’d better get you to Madam Pomfrey. She’ll know what to do.”

Harry rolled his eyes and made himself look disgruntled. “All right – if you insist,” he said. Ginny nudged him slightly as he stood, reminding him that he was supposed to be having stomach pain, and he quickly grabbed his midsection with one arm. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione all followed him through the portrait hole.

“You don’t all have to come,” Harry said in a quiet voice as soon as they were out of the common room. “I’m just going to be unconscious all weekend. Rather boring, actually.”

“Shut up, Harry,” said Ginny, taking his hand.

Harry was actually rather nervous about what was about to happen to him. Remus, Dumbledore, Flitwick, and Snape had worked together to research and develop a combination of charms and potions to separate the two souls within his body. The result, which was based partially on the theory behind the dementor’s kiss, would take at least a month to administer. Remus had insisted that Harry be sedated during the first two days, when the pain would likely be at its worst. Snape had protested that sedation might weaken the effectiveness of the potion, but Harry couldn’t help wondering if the Potions Master just wanted to see him in great pain.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were waiting for them in the hospital wing along with Remus, Dumbledore, Flitwick, and Snape. Harry was both touched that the Weasleys cared enough to be there and annoyed at all the attention. Madam Pomfrey glared disapprovingly at the crowd of people as she bustled Harry behind a screen to change into pyjamas.

As Harry was settling into a bed, the door burst open and Malfoy strutted in, his eyes hardening in defiance at the hostile stares that turned his way. Harry rolled his eyes and said, “You didn’t have to come, Malfoy.”

Instead of joining the crowd standing at the end of Harry’s bed, Malfoy flopped into the chair beside it. “I needed a headache potion,” he said with a shrug. “I suppose she’ll have to take care of you first, though.”

Ginny gave Malfoy a venomous look, positioned another chair between Harry’s bed and Malfoy’s chair, and took Harry’s hand in both of her own. Harry gave her a weak smile and said, “Let’s get this over with.”

Professor Dumbledore hobbled to the other side of Harry’s bed, leaning heavily on his walking stick, and then turned slowly to address the group. “I know Harry appreciates your support at this time, but what will be even more vital will be your continuing support during the coming weeks and possibly months of this process. To our knowledge, nothing like this has ever been attempted before, and though we believe it will be successful, there is no way for us to predict the effects Harry will experience. It is likely that Harry’s personality, the essence of who he is, his very being will unravel as this treatment takes effect and the two souls are separated.” Dumbledore turned to Harry and though he was obviously weak, his blue eyes pierced Harry’s like drills. “Do you understand, Harry?”

Ginny squeezed Harry’s hand; he glanced at her and saw that she was struggling not to cry. Harry turned his gaze back to Dumbledore and in a firm tone said, “I understand.”

“Then let us begin,” said Dumbledore as Professor Flitwick stepped forward.

Ginny kissed Harry’s cheek, touched his face with her hand, and went to stand next to her mother, who draped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. Malfoy had also joined the group and was gazing at him with a look of mild fear. Harry scanned the rest of the faces and was a bit annoyed at the various expressions of apprehension and sorrow; they were acting as if he was going to die, and he suddenly felt a crazy urge to reassure them all.

He was silent as Flitwick performed the complicated-sounding charm, and then waited, mildly surprised that he didn’t feel something right away. Harry shrugged and smiled slightly at his friends as Snape stepped forward carrying a goblet that was smoking ominously. The Potions Master’s eye glittered almost hungrily as Harry forced down the vile liquid.

Thankfully, the pain didn’t begin until he had swallowed the last mouthful, or he probably would have choked. It began in his chest, slamming him back onto the bed as if he’d been hit with a curse. The pain travelled through his limbs and up his neck, strangling his cries as it made its way to his head. Just as he thought he couldn’t take any more, he fell into welcome darkness.


	24. In Essence Divided

AUTHOR'S NOTE: HUGE thanks, cuddles, and chocolate go to Swishandflick, Gianfar, and Carfiniel for their beta reading, opinions, and support on this chapter. Also, thanks to Carfiniel for the chapter title.

Though one may be overpowered,  
two can defend themselves.  
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

Ecclesiastes 4:12

Harry awoke slowly, as if he had to make his way down a long, dim tunnel before he could open his eyes. He blinked twice, which seemed to take several minutes, and eventually realized his surroundings were unfamiliar. He should be staring at the canopy of his bed in Gryffindor Tower; instead he was looking at a vaguely familiar ceiling. Something in the deep recesses of this mind associated the ceiling with being injured, but he didn’t feel any pain.

What was he doing in the hospital wing?

Madam Pomfrey’s face moved into his line of vision briefly and then disappeared. He wanted to ask her what he was doing there, but his throat was too dry. He turned his head from side to side and then moved his arms and legs experimentally. Everything seemed to be working properly. Why was he here?

Just as he was pushing himself into a sitting position, Remus burst into the hospital wing with an anxious expression, followed more slowly by Dumbledore, who was leaning heavily on his walking stick. “How do you feel?” Remus asked without preamble.

“Fine,” Harry managed around his dry throat. Remus handed him a glass of water, which he accepted gratefully, but he wondered at Remus’s scrutiny while he drank. “What am I doing here?” he asked once his mouth was moistened.

Remus shot a worried look at Dumbledore and said, “You don’t remember?”

Harry tried to remember, but he felt as if his memories were behind a cloud. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

Dumbledore reached the bed and lowered himself awkwardly into a chair. “Do you remember who you are?” he asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “I’m Harry James Potter, seventh year Gryffindor. Have I had amnesia or something?”

Harry watched with bemusement as Remus and Dumbledore both relaxed their postures in apparent relief. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Do you remember about Voldemort?” Remus asked.

“Yeah,” said Harry bitterly. “I wish I didn’t. I have to kill him, but I’ve got his soul … Oh!” Harry broke off as the memories of Friday evening suddenly came flooding back: his friends gathered at the foot of his bed, Professor Flitwick performing the charm, Snape giving him the potion, the pain that had surpassed the Cruciatus Curse. “It hurt,” he whispered.

“Yes, we could see that,” said Remus, his voice trembling a bit.

Harry suddenly felt completely humiliated that so many people had been watching him go through that agony. “Oh sweet Merlin,” he said, covering his eyes with one hand.

“Are you in pain, Harry?” Dumbledore asked with apparent concern.

“No … just … next time we do that, can it be private?”

Remus laughed, and Harry looked up at him in surprise and annoyance. “Sorry, Harry – it’s just – that’s so like you!”

“You expected me to act different?”

“We didn’t know,” Remus said with a shrug.

Harry was pleased to see a slight twinkle return to Dumbledore’s eyes. “I believe, Harry, that you may go to class if you feel up to it. I think that your Maglican flu has been cured.”

“What day is it?” Harry asked, suddenly realizing he had no idea how long he had been unconscious.

“It’s Monday,” said Remus, “so you haven’t missed any classes. If you hurry you can make it to breakfast in the Great Hall.”

“We will allow you some privacy to change clothes,” said Dumbledore, struggling to rise from his chair. Remus helped him to his feet and then turned back to Harry.

“Be sure to let one of us know if you begin to have symptoms,” said Remus.

“Symptoms?”

Remus shrugged. “We’re not really sure what to expect. Just let us know if you start feeling odd, okay?”

Harry nodded and watched as Remus and Dumbledore left the hospital wing, Remus walking unnaturally slow to keep pace with Dumbledore. He pulled a screen around his bed, changed quickly out of his pyjamas, and then hurried up to Gryffindor Tower to retrieve his book bag.

His mind wandered idly over the unusual conversation that morning. Would he begin to feel strange? Should he expect to act oddly? Other than a vague apprehension about his treatment, Harry felt perfectly normal. He was to continue treatments once a week until the two souls in his body were completely separated. He wondered, however, how they would know that their goal had been accomplished. Would he have to endure the painful treatments for months, possibly years?

When he reached the Great Hall, he felt a surge of joy as Ginny, Ron, and Hermione looked up from the Gryffindor table, their faces showing identical expressions of relief. He glanced toward the Slytherin table and saw the same emotion in Malfoy’s eyes, though he was obviously trying to disguise it.

Harry slid into the seat next to Ginny, who promptly leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “How are you?” she said, taking his hand and squeezing it.

“Are you over your magical flu, mate?” asked Ron.

“Maglican flu, Ron,” said Hermione in an exasperated tone.

“I feel fine,” said Harry, smiling at them all in a way that he hoped was reassuring. “In fact,” he continued, “I actually feel wonderful.”

It was true. The joy he had felt when he had first seen his friends hadn’t abated, and he felt as if he was floating on a cloud of euphoria. He found his appetite was ravenous, he couldn’t stop grinning, and he had the crazy desire to hug all three of them, even Ron. He managed to refrain from embracing Ron and Hermione, but only because it would have been awkward to stand and reach across the table for them.

His rapturous mood lasted the rest of the day. The threat of Voldemort was never far from his mind, but it suddenly seemed much less ominous than it had the week before. He was cheerful and eager to answer questions in all of his classes that day, and generally felt glad to be alive.

Harry ploughed eagerly through his homework that night, earning a nod of approval from Hermione and raised eyebrows from Ginny and Ron. He was actually disappointed at bedtime and lay awake for hours. When he finally managed to sleep he had dreams of soaring through the air on a magic carpet.

He greeted all enthusiastically the next morning, even Zabini, who they happened to meet as they were entering the Great Hall for breakfast. “It’s a beautiful day!” he said with bliss as he sat at the Gryffindor table and looked up at the blue sky and puffy clouds. The euphoria was so pleasant that he never thought to question why he was acting as if someone had put him under a Cheering Charm.

Then he went to Potions.

It was difficult for Harry to keep quiet and focus on his potion; it seemed imperative that he ask Malfoy if his magic carpet dream was similar to the reality of riding one.

“I can understand why you continue to sit with my best student since your potion-making skills remain substandard,” said Snape, looming behind them, “but I must insist that you complete this potion independently. Take your things and move to an empty table.”

“But we weren’t talking about the potion!” Harry insisted without thinking.

Snape’s eyes glittered with glee. “That, of course, is entirely inappropriate. Twenty points from Gryffindor for discussing something other than potions in my class.”

To his horror and complete bewilderment, Harry felt tears well up in his eyes. “I thought I was in trouble for talking about the potion,” he protested with a sniff. Why did he suddenly feel as if he was developing a head cold? “Would you make up your mind?” he demanded, knowing he was going too far, but somehow unable to stop his mouth from running. He heard a quiet groan from Malfoy and he dared not look at Ron and Hermione.

“Forty points from Gryffindor for your disrespect,” said Snape with a delighted smile, “and detention tomorrow night at seven.”

“But that’s the D.A.!” said Harry around a lump in his throat. He had to sniff almost desperately to keep his nose from running and he tried to swipe at his left eye without being noticed. He must be allergic to one of the potions ingredients.

“Another forty points, which makes it an even hundred,” said Snape, his tone becoming dangerous. “The detention stands. Now move and stop wasting my time!” Snape turned and swooped back to his desk.

“Here,” whispered Malfoy, giving Harry a handkerchief. Harry flushed with embarrassment, but took the cloth with him as he moved to an unoccupied table.

Harry’s potion was an utter failure because all he could think about was how horrible he was at potion-making and how he would never make it into the Auror program. If he couldn’t succeed at Potions, why even bother to try to pass Charms and Transfigurations? He might pass Defence Against the Dark Arts, but he didn’t see the point if he couldn’t continue the Defence Association. And who would lead the D.A. in his absence? Should he cancel the meeting altogether?

Snape took another ten points from Gryffindor because his potion was orange instead of pink, but Harry hardly noticed. He slumped out of class, utterly defeated, and ignoring Ron and Hermione calling behind him, slipped into the nearest boys’ bathroom and locked himself in a stall. He had no desire to talk to his friends, but when Ron didn’t follow him into the bathroom he spent the entire lunch hour convincing himself that he had completely alienated all of them. Who would want to be friends with someone who was going to be killed by Voldemort, anyway? Even if Voldemort didn’t manage to kill him, he would be an utter failure as a person, unable to get a job anywhere in the wizarding world.

“POTTER!” The shout pulled him reluctantly out of his morose musings. “I know you’re in here!” shouted Malfoy. “Get your sorry arse out of that stall!”

Harry didn’t move. Malfoy was yelling at him. Malfoy hated him. He thought he had finally befriended the Slytherin, but now he hated him. He couldn’t blame him, really.

The lock on the bathroom stall clicked open and the door swung aside to reveal Malfoy’s angry face. “What’s your problem, Potter?” His eyes softened a bit. “You look like hell.”

Harry huddled against the wall as if the harsh words were physically wounding him. Malfoy bit his lip, looking oddly unsure of himself.

“Look,” said Malfoy, taking a few steps into the stall and letting the door close behind him, “Snape was out of line goading you like that. He, more than anyone, should know what’s going on with you.”

“That’s why he did it,” said Harry, his voice scratchy from crying.

Malfoy regarded him curiously. “What did you do to make him hate you so much?”

“It was my father, actually. Long story.”

Malfoy nodded, and then said, “Well, it was stupid of him to make it so obvious something’s off with you, and I told him so. We don’t need the whole school talking about this.”

“Nothing’s ‘off’ with me,” Harry said grumpily. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah – you lock yourself in the bathroom all the time, Potter.” Malfoy crossed his arms and hardened his expression. “Now get up and come on.”

“No,” said Harry, turning his face to the wall.

“GET UP!” Malfoy shouted. “Snape took points from Slytherin because of you, and by Merlin you’re going to get your sorry arse out of this stall and go to class!”

Harry turned to Malfoy in surprise. “Snape took points from you?” It began to sink into Harry’s mind that Malfoy had stood up to his head of house in Harry’s defence, and that made him feel a little better. He pulled himself to his feet and went to the sink to splash cold water on his face.

“How did you find me?” Harry asked, blubbering a bit around the water.

“Weasley and Granger,” said Malfoy. “At first they said it was none of my business, that I should just leave you alone until you felt better, but I told them you didn’t need to be coddled – you needed someone to knock some sense into you. Weasley seemed to think that was funny – I think he told me where you were because he thought you would hex me. He’d probably be here watching if Granger hadn’t dragged him to class.”

“I really should hex you,” Harry said thoughtfully as he dried his face with a paper towel.

“No you shouldn’t,” said Malfoy. “I just did you a big favour.”

Harry nodded, picturing Malfoy’s conversation with Snape. “Thanks, Malfoy,” he said, and before he thought about it, he was stepping toward Malfoy with his arms outstretched.

Malfoy backed away, his eyes widened in horror, until he was against the wall. He pulled his wand from his pocket with an almost desperate look on his face. “Stop! Don’t you dare, Potter!”

Harry stopped and dropped his arms. “Sorry,” he mumbled, blushing profusely.

“I know you’re having a hard time, Potter,” said Malfoy, drawing himself up to his full height, “but if you ever even think about hugging me again …” He left the threat hanging ominously in the air.

***************************************

Harry managed to refrain from hugging Malfoy over the next couple of weeks, despite the treatments. Ron, however, did not fare so well, but at least the bursts of emotion that led to embraces took place in the privacy of their dormitory, where they caused minimal embarrassment.

The mood swings continued, gradually becoming more extreme and shorter lasting. Harry began to notice other students trying to avoid him in the corridors and sitting as far away from him as possible in class. Rumours started circulating that he was finally cracking under the strain of his fame, and Dumbledore suggested that Harry and his friends do little to dispel the gossip.

Harry tried not to think about Ginny’s worried eyes, which haunted his dreams at night, and Ron’s constantly simmering tension, caused by restraining himself from beating the rumourmongers to a pulp. Hermione almost drove him mad with kindness and affection, while Malfoy told him firmly to calm down and get over it, though his eyes betrayed his concern.

One day in October, Ron gazed across the Great Hall at lunch. “Will you look at that?” he said.

“What?” Harry and Ginny turned around in tandem to see what Ron was ogling. Harry had been only slightly depressed that morning, which was at least an emotion that didn’t call attention to itself.

“Goyle is sitting with Malfoy and Zabini,” said Ron.

Harry shrugged and turned around to face Ron. “Yeah – I suppose they’re sort of mates again.”

“They are?” Hermione gasped.

“Goyle told Malfoy that Crabbe had become a Death Eater, but Goyle doesn’t want to.”

“So Goyle’s supporting Dumbledore?” asked Ginny, narrowing her eyes in apparent disbelief.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Harry, shaking his head. “Of course, Malfoy isn’t openly supporting Dumbledore, either. Malfoy says if they avoid talking about the war they get along just fine.”

“How does Malfoy know Goyle isn’t spying for Voldemort?” asked Hermione.

“He might be,” Harry said with a shrug. “Malfoy’s being careful. I suppose Zabini could be, for that matter, but who else is Malfoy going to go around with?”

“I still think it’s possible that Malfoy’s spying for Voldemort, Harry,” said Ron in a very quiet voice. “I really wish you didn’t insist on trusting Malfoy with so much information. What if Voldemort knows all about this soul stuff and your treatments?”

“You know, I’m really getting sick of your attitude toward my friend, Ron,” said Harry, brushing off Ginny’s attempts to get him to quiet his tone.

“Ron has a point, Harry,” said Hermione. “You don’t have to trust him with everything, do you?”

“And you’re an expert on who to trust, are you?” Harry felt a tiny prick of guilt when Hermione’s eyes filled with tears, but he ignored it as Ron stood and put a supporting hand on her shoulder.

“That’s not fair and you know it,” said Ron.

Ginny leaned over and whispered in Harry’s ear, “I had Professor Vector last year, and I would have trusted her, too. That wasn’t Hermione’s fault.” Harry turned to glare at Ginny, but then his attention was diverted back to Ron.

“I know you’re going through a rough time right now,” said Ron, drawing himself up to his full height and gazing angrily at Harry, “and because of that I’m going to give you one chance to take that back.”

Harry stood, shaking off Ginny’s hand on his arm. “Why should I take back something that’s true?”

Harry stood his ground defiantly as Ron walked around the end of the table to confront him. Ginny stood and stood on tiptoe to murmur, “Harry, stop it! You’re not yourself right now!”

Harry whirled around to face Ginny and said, “Don’t tell me what to do!” He gave her a shove that sent her toppling onto the bench.

Suddenly Harry was tackled from behind and knocked to the floor. With surprising quickness, Ron flipped him over onto his back and began hitting him in the face. Harry’s anger disappeared with the first punch, replaced by despair so deep that he didn’t even have the energy to hold his hands in front of his face, much less defend himself.

Seamus and Dean grabbed Ron from behind, forcing him to stop. Ron struggled to break free, but Malfoy shouted, “Stop it, Weasley! He’s not fighting back!”

“He pushed my sister!” Ron spat.

“He didn’t hurt me!” said Ginny’s voice, though Harry couldn’t see her. “Harry’s been your best friend for six years, Ron!”

Malfoy stood in front of Ron with his back to Harry for a long moment. Harry could see Ron’s furious expression as he glared at Malfoy and looked as though he wanted to say something. Eventually, Seamus and Dean relaxed their grip and Ron shook himself free. He shot one last venomous look at Harry and then silently accepted the lost points that McGonagall took from Gryffindor before stalking from the Great Hall. Hermione glanced sadly at Harry and then followed Ron.

“I’ll take him to the hospital wing,” Malfoy said to someone behind Harry’s head as he crouched beside him. “You’d better go after your brother.”

Malfoy helped Harry to his feet and led him from the Great Hall by the elbow. “Congratulations,” Malfoy said quietly once they were away from the other students. “It appears that you managed to alienate your two best friends and your girlfriend in one fell swoop.”

Harry shrugged off Malfoy’s supporting hand. “Bugger off Malfoy!” he said, but then he swayed a bit and grabbed the Slytherin’s arm.

“Stop it – you’re going to get blood on my robes,” Malfoy said, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressing it into Harry’s free hand; Harry pressed the cloth to his nose, wincing in pain. “Listen,” continued Malfoy, “you’re obviously having a bad reaction to the treatments. Have you talked to Dumbledore or Lupin about this?”

“I’m fine, Malfoy!”

The Slytherin gave a bitter laugh. “Sure – whatever.”

Harry gave him a sideways glance and said, “And if you go to Snape about this I’ll hex you into next week!”

“As if you could!” Malfoy retorted. “Besides, after that very public display I don’t think Snape or anyone else will be wondering if something is wrong with you.”

Harry cursed and put a hand over his reddening face.

They reached the hospital wing and Malfoy called, “Can we get some service here?” as he pushed Harry onto the nearest bed. Madam Pomfrey hurried over to them, and Malfoy gave Harry a concerned look as she bustled him away.

Harry endured the healer’s fussing as she stemmed the blood flow from his nose and healed the bone. She left the bruises on his face, however, scolding, “That’s what you get for fighting.”

As she finished, the door opened slowly and Ron poked his head around with a nervous expression on his face. Madam Pomfrey stepped between them and put her hands on her hips. “You broke his nose!” she accused.

“It’s all right,” Harry said quickly. “It was my fault. Please let him in – I-I need to talk to him.” He had no idea what he could possibly say to fix this, but the pain in his heart demanded that he try.

Madam Pomfrey looked doubtfully between the two of them for a moment and then sighed. “Mr. Potter, I want you to stay here for twenty more minutes to make sure the bleeding doesn’t start again. I’ll be in my office if you need me.” She walked away, occasionally looking over her shoulder as if afraid Ron would attack Harry when her back was turned.

Ron approached the bed and then shifted from one foot to another, staring at the floor. Harry’s mind raced, considering and rejecting things to say. An apology seemed so inadequate. Finally Ron broke the silence.

“Look, Harry,” he said, “you know I lo- … you know how I feel about you … you know – like a brother and all, but you can’t treat Hermione and Ginny like that, no matter what’s going on inside your body.”

“I’m so sorry,” Harry whispered, struggling in vain to keep the tears at bay.

“Yeah, I know you are, but still it happened, didn’t it?”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that, so he looked away and swiped angrily at his face.

“I don’t want to say this, but Ginny is my sister and all …” Ron took a deep breath. “If you ever raise a hand to her again…”

Harry nodded, hating himself for putting Ron in this position. “I understand,” he managed to choke.

Ron stared into Harry’s eyes a moment longer and then looked away, running his fingers through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “Merlin, Harry – this is horrible! You’ve not been yourself – have you talked to Remus or Dumbledore about this?”

“I don’t know what they could do short of keeping me sedated all the time,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe I should be – that way I couldn’t hurt anyone.”

“No,” said Ron, shaking his head. “We have no idea how long this will take.” He met Harry’s eyes again and said, “We’ll make it through this, Harry.”

Harry shrugged again and said, “Well, in the meantime, maybe I should stay away from Ginny and Hermione. I couldn’t …” He took a deep breath and started again. “I couldn’t stand it if I hurt one of them.”

Ron sighed heavily. “That might be a good idea – just until you get yourself sorted out.” Ron looked past Harry to the window beyond. “Ginny loves you, you know,” he said with reddening ears. “She’s not going anywhere, mate. She’ll stick by you through this.” He swallowed. “And me and Hermione … well … we’ve been friends too long to abandon you now. We’ll be there – even if we can’t go around together all the time – we’re still here for you, okay? No matter what happens.”

Harry nodded mutely, overwhelmed by the emotion that filled his heart: guilt for what he had done, gratification for Ron’s commitment to him, sadness that he needed to isolate himself for a time, and frustration and hatred at the Dark Lord who had caused all this.

************************************************

“No!” said Ginny firmly, defiance flashing in her eyes.

“You have to, Ginny. I couldn’t stand it if I …” Harry tried to swallow a lump in his throat and looked away from Ginny toward the lake, “… if I hurt you.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Harry.”

“Maybe you should be.” Harry swiped angrily at a tear that escaped from his left eye.

Ginny folded one leg and turned her body to face him on the rock upon which they were perched. She turned his shoulders toward her, and then cupped his face in both her hands, forcing him to look her in the eye. “Harry, you won’t hurt me,” she said with conviction.

A sob threatened to force its way out of Harry’s throat and it felt as if an invisible hand was squeezing his heart. “How can I be sure?” he pleaded. It suddenly seemed as if he would no longer be able to breathe if he continued to look at her and he abruptly pushed himself to his feet.

“Don’t run away from me Harry!” Ginny shouted, rising to her feet. “It’s time for you to stop playing the martyr!”

Harry whirled to face her and yelled, “In case you haven’t noticed, I AM the martyr! I’m bloody sick of being the martyr! When do I get to be normal? When do I get to have a girlfriend?”

“You’re not sick of being the martyr!” Ginny countered. “You love it!”

“That’s not true and you know it!” Harry took a step toward her, balling his fists at his sides.

“Harry Potter – the Boy Who Lived,” Ginny said in a taunting voice. “He must always suffer for the Cause.”

Harry closed the gap between them and leaned forward slightly to scream into her face. “Stop it! You know I hate that!” By now he was literally shaking with anger, his fingernails digging into his palms and his face the colour of poppies.

“Then prove it!” Ginny cried, holding her ground. “Quit thinking about how all of this affects you and think of me for a change!”

“I AM thinking about you!” Harry screamed. He raised his arm as if to strike. Ginny looked at him defiantly without flinching at all. Harry’s hand froze in the air for a moment and then it dropped bonelessly to his side. He turned away from Ginny and bowed his head. “I AM thinking about you,” he whispered.

Ginny walked around him until she was facing him. “You were going to hit me.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured without meeting her eyes.

“Why didn’t you?”

Harry sniffed and said, “I don’t know.”

“I know,” said Ginny. “Harry, look at me!”

Harry obeyed slowly, reluctant to meet her accusatory eyes. He knew it was over between them, she would certainly never want to see him again after his behaviour, and he accordingly tried to brace himself against the heartbreak that was welling up inside him.

Ginny’s eyes, however, were gentle and loving. “You didn’t hit me because Harry Potter would never hurt me like that. Harry Potter is good and kind and gentle, and the part of you that is Harry Potter is winning.”

“How do you know that?” he demanded. “I don’t even know who I am any more! What if they get rid of the wrong soul and I end up with Tom Riddle’s evil one? Or what if MY soul is the evil one?”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Ginny calmly, shaking her head. “You, more than anyone, know how evil Tom Riddle is. I believe all the good that is in you is yours alone.”

Harry sighed and swiped impatiently at a tear. “I wish I could be sure of that, Ginny. I don’t trust myself any more.”

Ginny cupped his cheek with one hand. “I trust you, Harry. I love you, and I’m not leaving you, no matter what. You love me, and you won’t hurt me.”

Looking into her eyes, filled with sincerity, Harry could almost believe in himself. He slid his arms around her waist, pulled her close, and let himself hope for a moment that everything was going to turn out all right.

************************************************

“Was anyone hurt? Bill?” Harry asked, but only with mild alarm. He leaned forward slightly in his chair in Remus’s sitting room. After Harry’s very public fight with Ron in the Great Hall a fortnight earlier, Dumbledore had insisted that Snape brew Harry a modified calming draught to stabilize his emotions. Snape had argued vehemently that it would slow the process of the soul-separating treatments, but had been overruled. Harry now felt almost no emotion at all, which was sometimes more disturbing than the extreme emotions had been, but at least he wasn’t a danger to the people around him.

“Bill’s fine,” said Remus, his eyes softening only slightly. “All of the human workers had gone home for the day. But several goblins were killed. With the Death Eaters’ help, the goblins who had decided to support Voldemort easily defeated those who hadn’t. Gringotts is totally under Voldemort’s control now.”

“I suppose it could have been a lot worse, then,” said Harry, settling back into the comfortable chair.

“It’s going to get a lot worse,” said Remus with a heavy sigh. “This could bring the wizarding world to its knees. I’m sure only those loyal to Voldemort will be able to access their money. This could easily cause people to flock to Voldemort’s side.”

“People won’t join Voldemort just over money, will they?” Harry asked with disdain.

Remus gave Harry a gently chastising look. “Harry, imagine you’re a father with young children to feed.”

Harry’s stomach sickened at the thought of having to choose between his ideals and food for his family and he muttered a curse.

“Exactly,” agreed Remus. “That’s why we need to act quickly. Professor Dumbledore plans to go ahead and allow the attack on Hogwarts as soon as possible. He’s hoping that we can retake Gringotts while the Death Eaters are distracted here.”

“He won’t die?”

Remus sighed. “He doesn’t think so. Professor Snape is going to administer the Draught of the Living Death and he will be closely monitored by Madam Pomfrey as the wards are going down. He says he has complete confidence that Severus can brew a potion that will be potent enough to stop his heart and breathing, but gentle enough that it will be only temporary.”

Harry raised his eyebrows; it sounded as if this would be very delicate. He pushed the worry for Dumbledore out of his mind and asked, “What about Voldemort? I can’t face him until the souls have separated or I’ll die, right?” It was odd to feel very little fear at the thought.

Remus shook his head. “You won’t have to face him this time,” he said. “Severus is certain he’ll let his Death Eaters do all the dirty work and will only enter Hogwarts when triumph has been assured. We’ll see that it’s not – we’ll be ready for them.”

They were silent for a time, each lost in their own thoughts. Harry hoped Remus was right about Voldemort; even if the souls had been successfully separated in his body, he still had to kill him, and he still had no idea how to accomplish that. On the other hand, the sooner Voldemort was killed, the sooner this would all be over.

************************************************

Harry was now having daily Occlumency training sessions with Snape. Dumbledore had accepted that because of their connection, Harry may never be able to keep Voldemort out of his mind when they were in close proximity, but the headmaster was determined that the Dark Lord would not be allowed to invade Harry’s sleeping mind and uncover any of the Order’s plans. Harry knew better than to expect to be excused for a holiday, so before the Halloween puddings had disappeared from the tables in the Great Hall, Harry slipped out of his place beside Ginny and hurried to the dungeons.

After only twenty minutes of practice, however, they were interrupted by Madam Pomfrey’s head in the fireplace, summoning Snape to the hospital wing to tend to Professor Dumbledore. Snape told Harry in no uncertain terms to return to his dormitory, but Harry had no intention of obeying. He was surprised, however, to see Malfoy standing in the corridor when he stepped out of the Potions classroom. Harry acknowledged his friend with a nod before turning to follow Snape.

“Wait!” said Malfoy, grasping Harry’s arm.

Harry looked at his arm for a moment in surprise, and then looked into Malfoy’s uncharacteristically nervous face. “I’m going to see Dumbledore – he must be getting worse,” Harry said, resisting the urge to shake the hand off his arm.

“I need you to do something for me. A favour.”

Harry’s eyes widened even further and he took a step back, causing Malfoy to drop his hand. “Can’t it wait?” he said. “If Dumbledore’s getting worse, that means the wards are going down, and we might be under attack. I need to get up there!”

Harry turned and only managed two steps before Malfoy said something that caused him to freeze: “Harry, please!” Harry spun to face Malfoy, stunned at the pleading tone and the use of his given name. “It can’t wait,” said Malfoy as he closed the gap between them. “I need the favour now.”

“What is it?” asked Harry, extremely curious; he had never seen Malfoy quite so vulnerable.

“I need you to go with me to Hogsmeade,” said Malfoy, clearly trying to act as if this was a normal, everyday request.

Harry blinked for a moment. “Are you insane?” he demanded. “I can’t just leave! Why do you want me to go to Hogsmeade?”

Malfoy sighed heavily. “I assure you it is very urgent.”

“Urgent?” said Harry, the volume and pitch of his voice increasing. “It’s urgent for me to leave Hogwarts when it might be under attack?” Harry shook his head and almost smirked. “I don’t think so. What’s this about? Trying to get me away to keep me safe? You know better than that, Malfoy.”

“Look,” said Malfoy, running his fingers anxiously through his hair, “you’re just going to have to trust me.”

Harry stared at his friend, torn. How many times had he defended Malfoy to his other friends, insisting that he trusted him? But this just didn’t make sense! Why wouldn’t Malfoy tell him what was going on?

Harry started to shake his head, and Malfoy spoke again. “Harry,” he said, “you said you trusted me. Was it just words?”

“Of course not!”

“Then prove it!” said Malfoy, straightening his back and looking at Harry with a challenge in his eyes. “I know you know how to get to Hogsmeade without being detected – I need you to take me.”

“I can tell you how to get there – there’s a tunnel …”

“No,” Malfoy interrupted, “I need you to go with me.”

Harry hesitated, and then mentally berated himself for doing so. “Fine,” he said, “but can we go check on Dumbledore first?”

“No time,” said Malfoy without hesitation. Harry looked for a moment into Malfoy’s determined expression but fought down his misgivings, reminding himself that Malfoy was one of the six people who loved him enough to die for him. Malfoy didn’t deserve his suspicion; he deserved his trust. He sighed and led the way to the statue of the one-eyed witch on the third floor.

Malfoy’s eyes widened as he watched the witch’s hump open up and peered in to the inky black of the tunnel. “Close it on your way in,” said Harry just before he dived through the hole. Once he reached the bottom of the stone slide, he lit his wand just in time to see Malfoy plough into him.

“Get out of the way,” Malfoy complained as he and Harry untangled their limbs. “Merlin, it’s dirty down here!”

“Sorry for the mess, Your Majesty,” said Harry. “I forgot to have the maid service come today.” He struggled to his feet and started toward Hogsmeade without another word.

“Where does this come out?” asked Malfoy as he caught up with Harry.

“Honeydukes,” said Harry. “Where are we going?”

“Hog’s Head,” said Malfoy. Harry looked at him with raised eyebrows, but kept walking.

“And you’re not telling me why we’re going there,” said Harry.

“No.”

Harry nodded, biting back a retort and reminding himself that he trusted Malfoy.

“Am I supposed to call you ‘Draco’ now?” Harry asked in a tight voice.

“If you want to,” said Draco in a casual tone. “I give you my permission.”

“Cheers,” said Harry with a roll of his eyes. “You didn’t ask permission to call me Harry.”

“So what?” said Draco. Harry glanced at him and saw that he looked genuinely confused. He shook his head and then put his finger to his lips as they reached the end of the tunnel.

They emerged quietly through the trapdoor into the Honeydukes basement. Harry silently thanked Merlin that the owners had apparently closed up and gone home for the night. Harry continued to lead the way as they crept up the stairs and slipped out a side door into an alleyway. At that point, Draco took the lead, which suited Harry just fine since the only way he knew to the Hog’s Head was up the main street.

After only a few minutes of skulking through alleys, Draco stopped at an ancient brick wall with a wooden door that looked as though a slight push would cause it to crumble into dust. “I need your wand,” Draco whispered.

“What? Why?” Harry said, managing, with difficulty, to whisper. His hand went automatically to his pocket as if to protect his wand.

“You’re going to have to trust me, Harry,” said Draco with an unreadable expression, holding out his hand.

Harry raised an eyebrow at Draco at the odd request and the use of his given name for the third time that evening. “I trust you … Draco,” he said, his friend’s given name feeling odd in his mouth, “but my wand?” His hand closed tightly around it in his pocket.

Draco sighed. “Do you trust me or not?” Harry lowered his gaze to the ground for a moment, and then slowly pulled out his wand and held it out to Draco. A sad look crossed Draco’s eyes for a brief instant as he pulled the wand out of Harry’s grasp, but then his expression settled into something like determination. Harry stared at his wand as Draco pocketed it, and continued to stare at the pocket for a moment, feeling a strong sense of loss and vulnerability.

“Okay,” Draco breathed, “come on.” He pulled the door open and gestured for Harry to go first. Harry blinked for a moment to adjust his eyes to the semi-darkness, and then his scar exploded.

Harry leaned over slightly with his face in his hands and mentally forced the pain away, drawing on Voldemort’s strong feelings of triumph and happiness to allow himself to be able to stand up straight and face his enemy.

He took a deep breath and looked briefly around the room. There were two Death Eaters, Narcissa Malfoy, and the Dark Lord himself. Harry and Draco were outnumbered two to one, but if Harry could only keep Voldemort distracted for a moment, maybe Draco could stun the others and escape.

But wait – why was Draco’s mother there?

And why was Draco kneeling before Voldemort and offering him Harry’s wand?

“He gave it to me willingly, My Master,” Draco said in a sneering tone. “He trusted me.”

“You have succeeded far beyond my expectations, Young Master Malfoy,” said Voldemort in a tone Harry had never heard before; it sounded almost fatherly. “You may do as you wish with the wand – I have no need of it.”

“Your kindness overwhelms me,” said Draco in a hushed voice, looking up at Voldemort adoringly as he pocketed Harry’s wand.

“Well done, Lucius,” said Voldemort to the Death Eater standing nearest to him. “I had my doubts, but your son has certainly proven his worth to me today.”

“Draco?” Harry choked, finally finding his voice. Draco stood and walked over to stand between his parents with a blank expression, completely ignoring Harry. “Draco?” Harry repeated, a bit louder.

Draco rolled his eyes and then his face settled into a sneer, his eyes completely devoid of emotion. He remained silent.

“How appropriate,” said Voldemort in a sibilant voice, taking a few steps toward Harry. “Like father, like son. Each betrayed to his death by someone he believed to be a friend, and even on the same date. Happy anniversary, Harry Potter.”


	25. Draco's Betrayal

AUTHOR’S NOTES: About twenty months ago, I had an idea for a story. I wasn’t sure if I should write it, but it just wouldn’t get out of my head. I started an outline, wrote the first five chapters, and then worried for awhile about whether or not to post it. Wow. You all have been such a great support to me through all this time. My beta-readers, readers and reviewers have really kept me motivated. Thank you so much for all your kind words and encouragement over the past couple of years.

I wrote another story in this universe back in November during NaNoWriMo. It’s not a sequel, exactly, but it assumes all the events in this story. It takes place six years later and is told entirely from Neville’s point of view. I believe it will be named “A Quiet Life” because I like the irony of that title. It should begin to be posted soon after HBP, though it won’t take the new canon into account.

Swishandflick has beta read every single chapter of this story for me, even through major life changes and hectic schedules. His input has been invaluable – I really don’t know what I would have done without him. He is also honestly one of the nicest people I have ever met, and he knows I love him dearly.

Gianfar came on board around chapter four, and she has really put in her time helping me, even helping me analyze things over the phone! She’s brilliant with catching punctuation, word usage, characterization, etc, and she’s never to busy to help. Gianfar has become one of my closest friends, online or off. *hugs her*

Ginnysdarkside was my first beta reader and even though she doesn’t have the time to do it any more, I still carry her many of her lessons with me. To this day, I get nervous around adverbs!

Carfiniel stepped in several chapters ago when I just needed one more opinion before posting, and she stuck around for a few more! Thanks, dear, I’m so grateful for your input!

Several other people have helped me with beta reading, including Lady Jayne Paisley, Melindaleo2000, Dream_queen, and Bryonia Alba. Thanks to all of you.

Though one may be overpowered,  
two can defend themselves.  
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

Ecclesiastes 4:12

Harry stood in place, stunned into immobility. He just couldn’t believe that Draco was betraying him. Since Draco had been chosen as one of his spell casters, Harry had never doubted that Draco loved him and was committed to protecting him. Was it possible that Draco had decided to stop being his friend? Was it possible that the Pensieve had been wrong about Draco loving him? Had Harry been naïve to trust someone he knew to be the son of a Death Eater? Voldemort had compared him to his father, but at least James Potter had had no real reason to suspect Peter. Harry should have known better, especially after what had happened to his parents.

“And now, Harry Potter,” said Voldemort, circling Harry like a tiger toying with its prey, “before you die, you will watch your ‘friend’ take my honoured Mark.”

Draco stepped forward and rolled up his left sleeve. Harry searched Draco’s expression frantically, desperate to see some sign that he wasn’t betraying him, but Draco kept his gaze firmly on the Dark Lord.

“Before we begin, Young Draco,” said Voldemort, “would you like the privilege of restraining my prisoner?”

Draco’s eyes glowed with something that looked almost like hunger. “Can I hurt him first?” he asked, eager as a child on Christmas morning.

“Draco!” chastised Lucius.

Voldemort held up a hand, palm facing Lucius. “I will allow it,” he said in a patronizing tone, “for now.” He dropped his hand and turned his face toward Draco, but continued to talk to Lucius. “I find that his enthusiasm pleases me. He will, however, have to learn proper respect.”

“Of course, My Lord,” said Lucius, bowing his head deferentially.

“Draco?” said Voldemort, waving with his hand to encourage him to proceed.

Harry lowered his eyes, unwilling to watch Draco as he raised his wand to torture him. There was nowhere to run, and Harry wasn’t sure that he could have managed it through his grief, anyway. He was wandless, he still had no idea how to kill Voldemort, and one of his closest friends was about to do the unthinkable.

For some reason, Harry’s ears were hypersensitive to the rustling of Draco’s robes as he stepped forward and raised his arm. Harry’s entire body stiffened as he anticipated the pain of whatever curse Draco chose.

“Funis!” shouted Draco, and Harry’s head snapped up in surprise.

“Tres!” shouted a female voice, and Harry looked up in astonishment to see the familiar silver thread emerging from the end of Narcissa Malfoy’s wand. Before his mind could get past the shock to wonder how Draco’s mother could love him enough to be one of his spell casters, one of the Death Eaters, the one who had not yet spoken, stepped forward.

“Restis!” shouted Snape, throwing back his mask and hood.

Harry barely heard Voldemort’s howls of frustration as he stared around at the three spell casters. Draco’s mouth was set in determination, but his eyes had softened and Harry easily read the apology there. But how could Narcissa Malfoy and Snape be casting the spell? Draco’s mother barely knew him, and he knew the Potions Master hated him.

“YOU!” screamed Voldemort, his voice finally becoming loud enough to break into Harry’s thoughts. To Harry’s surprise, the Dark Lord was pointing his wand at Lucius Malfoy, who was cowering in fear. “Your wife and your son have BOTH betrayed me! You are an utter failure, Lucius! Crucio!”

Draco sucked in a sharp breath and turned his head away as his father writhed and screamed under Voldemort’s wand. Oddly, Narcissa seemed to be unaffected by her husband’s pain, but Harry still felt too stunned to wonder why. After a moment, Draco reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulled something out, and pressed it into Harry’s hand.

“Don’t miss,” he said quietly. Harry looked at the object in his hand and gasped. It was a revolver.

“B-but I-I n-never … I don’t know how … How do I …”

Narcissa reached forward with her free hand and cocked the revolver for him. “Just aim and pull the trigger,” she said. “This one should be easy enough to handle – I’ve read all about it.”

Something in Narcissa’s tone triggered recognition in Harry. “Hermione?” he asked, completely bemused.

“Just do it before he gets away!” Draco whispered urgently.

Harry held the gun up to his face like he had seen on television, aimed for Voldemort’s chest, pulled the trigger, and then howled in pain as the revolver jumped back and slammed into his nose.

Voldemort was jolted into removing the curse from Lucius Malfoy when the bullet grazed his left shoulder. He gave a cry of pain and turned furiously toward Harry. “Your Muggle weapon can’t kill me, Potter!” Voldemort’s anger and frustration rolled over Harry like a tidal wave, and he almost collapsed to the ground under the pain in his scar. “Yes, you know that, don’t you?” asked the Dark Lord, taking a step toward Harry. “Even if you managed to kill my body, my spirit will survive, and I will return. I am immortal, Harry Potter! I cannot be killed!”

Suddenly, Voldemort gave a primal cry of pain and bent over almost double. Harry heard Hermione gasp and managed to look up. Blood was dripping from a horrible gash in Voldemort’s torso and Lucius Malfoy was shakily pointing his wand toward the Dark Lord. Voldemort pulled his hand back from the wound and stared at the blood for a brief moment, and then straightened his back with obvious difficulty and pointed his wand at Lucius.

“Avada Kedavra!” he gasped, and then leaned over again, grasping the bleeding wound. Harry heard Draco choke back a sob as his father stiffened under the green light and then lay still.

“Harry,” Draco whispered, sounding as if it was taking supreme effort to speak, “I’ll kill him if you don’t – prophecy be damned!”

Harry took a moment to focus on the love of his friends, and then managed to hold the gun steady. Hardly realizing what he was doing, he emptied it into Voldemort, hoping at least one of the bullets would hit something vital enough to kill him.

The silence was deafening after the last echoes of the gunshots had faded away. Harry stared through the colours swirling around him; Voldemort was lying on the floor, apparently knocked down by the force of the bullets. However, Harry could still feel his overpowering rage and had to focus on the circle of friendship surrounding him to stay conscious.

“Is he dead?” whispered Snape. Harry glanced at the Potions Master, and then whipped his head around to look at him fully. Snape’s hair was turning red.

“No,” Harry told him.

And then the pain hit, pain that made the Cruciatus Curse feel like a tickle.

Harry wasn’t aware that he had fallen to the floor and curled into a fetal position, howling at the top of his lungs. He was only aware of the pain: it was a living thing, going beyond a mere physical presence. His very soul was in agony, and he wanted nothing more than for it to end. If he could have managed it, he would have begged one of his friends to end his life, but he was no longer human enough to speak. For a few agonizing moments that seemed like hours, the two souls warred within him, vying for dominance. Finally, when Harry knew he could no longer take the anguish, it abruptly ended, and he began to sink gratefully into nothingness.

A sharp pain on his cheek pulled him unwillingly back to consciousness. “You’ve got to do it now, Harry!” shouted Draco, slapping him again, harder this time. “Wake up, you prat!”

Harry managed to open his eyes and look weakly at the three faces crowded around him. Draco pressed his wand into his hand and Hermione said, “The incantation is Cor Annihilare, Harry. Do it NOW!”

Harry looked at her stupidly for a moment, and then Draco slapped him again. “NOW, Dammit!” Harry waved his wand and murmured something just before everything went black.

**********************************

Harry woke to an odd roiling motion, sort of like the rocking of a boat. It made him feel queasy.

“… didn’t have to hit him so hard you wanker!” said a male voice Harry didn’t recognize.

“You know he would have never forgiven us if he hadn’t managed to get rid of him!” said a voice he knew. “He’ll thank me – you’ll see,” Draco continued.

“Harry?” said an unfamiliar female voice. Who were these people? He finally managed to open his eyes a crack, even though he was certain the lids weighed fifty pounds apiece. The woman leaning over him appeared to be Narcissa Malfoy with a curly brown wig. He managed to wince when she grabbed his shoulders. “He’s awake!” she said. “Harry, can you hear me? How do you feel?”

Harry blinked twice and struggled to pry open his dry mouth. “Wh-“ he breathed. “Wh-who?”

“It’s Hermione,” she said in a voice that was definitely not Hermione’s. “I put salamander blood in the Polyjuice Potion to make it last longer, so it’s taking us forever to change back.”

“I hope our voices go back soon,” said the male voice, which Harry concluded must be Ron. “I’m tired of sounding like Snape.” Harry managed to turn his head slightly so he could see his best friend. He looked like Ron, but with Snape’s enormous nose.

“It’s the nose,” said Draco. “It’s distorting your voice. Quite an improvement, actually.”

“Shut up, you pillock!” said Ron, giving Draco a shove.

“Stop it, Ron!” Hermione yelled in alarm. “We’re hundreds of feet off the ground!”

“And your point is?” said Ron without missing a beat.

“Look!” said Draco urgently.

All three suddenly became silent and Harry vaguely wondered why they were up in the air and if they could stop the motion before he vomited.

“We’ve gotta get down there!” shouted Ron.

“Not until we take Harry to the hospital wing!” argued Hermione. “Can you avoid it, Malfoy? We don’t want Harry to get hit with a stray curse.”

“Of course,” said Draco, “but hang on to him.”

Harry felt four arms grab him as his body lurched to one side. He had the vague impression of multi-coloured lights flashing some distance away before everything went black again.

**************************************

Harry was jolted awake by motion even more violent than before. After a moment, he realized one pair of hands had him under the arms and another was holding his legs; he was being carried awkwardly by two people. “Ah-“ he managed to say, trying to warn them.

“Damn you to hell, Harry!” yelled Draco as Harry turned his head and vomited all over Draco’s robes. Despite his anger, Draco was gentle as he and Ron laid Harry on the ground. “Go get help!” Draco barked.

“You go get help!” Ron protested. “I don’t know why we can’t just levitate him to the hospital wing.”

“I told you, Ron, I don’t think we can manage it after holding the Trilixicis Charm so long,” Hermione said impatiently. “By all means, go ahead if you don’t mind dropping him or bashing his head against a wall.”

“Madam Pomfrey is probably in the hospital wing,” said Draco. “She can levitate him the rest of the way. Go on, Weasley.”

“Why me?” said Ron.

“Just do it, Ron,” pleaded Hermione. “We don’t have time to argue.”

Harry heard a set of footfalls stomp angrily away. As they faded, Hermione said, “Scourgify!” several times.

“Thank you,” said Draco.

“You’re not a bad sort, Malfoy,” said Hermione after a moment. “Why do you have to pretend you are?”

“Why did you send your boyfriend away, Granger?” Draco countered. “Did you want to be alone with me?”

Hermione gave a snort of derision and then said, “Yes, Malfoy – I wanted to be alone with you so I could clean your robes.”

Draco gave a small chuckle and said, “You’re not a bad sort, either, Granger. I suppose it’s not your fault your parents are Muggles.”

“Shut up, Malfoy!” Harry managed, albeit weakly.

“He lives!” said Draco in a mockingly joyful tone, but when he leaned over to peer at Harry’s face, his eyes were concerned.

“How do you feel, Harry?” asked Hermione.

“I don’t know,” Harry breathed. He didn’t know. He still felt queasy, and his entire body was sore, but he also felt an odd emptiness he didn’t understand. He wasn’t sure if it was in his chest, his head, or both. After a moment, he realized why his vision was blurred. “My glasses?”

Draco patted his chest, and Harry could see a small bulge.

“What happened to him?” asked Madam Pomfrey from some distance down the corridor.

“Nothing big,” said Draco. “The Dark Lord’s soul was ripped violently from his body – I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

Madam Pomfrey gave a snort of disapproval, said an incantation, and Harry felt his body floating again. “NO!” he said. “I can walk!”

“You are in no state to walk, Mr. Potter!” said the nurse.

Harry sighed, shut his eyes, and pushed his lips together in an effort to keep from vomiting again as he floated down the corridor. Fortunately, the hospital wing was not far and he was descending onto the stability of a bed only a few minutes later.

“Get out of here, you lot!” Madam Pomfrey ordered.

“We’d like to stay with Harry,” said Hermione in a firm voice.

“No!” said the healer, making shooing motions with her hands. “Out! Out!”

“No,” said Draco in a quiet but inflexible voice. “Harry needs us here. We’re staying.” Madam Pomfrey opened her mouth to protest again, but they were all startled by a shout and the sound of running footsteps.

“Harry!” shouted Remus as he skidded to a halt at the end of Harry’s bed. “What happened? Where have you all been?”

“It’s done,” Harry murmured.

Remus looked as though his eyes might pop out of his head and he grabbed the railing at the end of the bed, presumably for support. “You mean … it’s over? He’s gone?”

“We think so …” began Hermione.

“Yes,” said Harry firmly.

Remus looked into Harry’s eyes for several moments as if he were trying to see his soul, which he probably was. “Are you okay? How do you feel?”

“I was just trying to determine that!” said Madam Pomfrey. “You people have to go!”

“No,” said Remus, turning to meet the healer’s eyes with a determined expression. “Harry needs the people closest to him to stay with him right now.”

Madam Pomfrey narrowed her eyes at him as if to intimidate, but Remus held her gaze. “Fine,” she said after a moment, and began to examine her patient.

“While she’s doing that,” Remus said, lowering his voice slightly, “you can tell me what happened.”

Harry was very curious to hear about the events which led up to the confrontation with Voldemort, but a more urgent question was pressing on his mind. “Where’s Ginny?”

Ron and Hermione both turned to Draco, Ron with an expression that was almost amused and Hermione with annoyance that bordered on anger. Draco, to Harry’s surprise, was flushing as if embarrassed. “Is she okay?” Harry demanded.

“I suppose that’s the point, isn’t it?” said Ron, grinning a little and sliding an arm around Hermione’s waist. Hermione glared at him but allowed the contact.

“Where is she?” Harry demanded, his voice reaching the timbre of a shout.

Draco took a deep breath and said, “I locked her in the Room of Requirement.”

Remus gave a humourless laugh. “I don’t envy you, Draco.”

“Why did you do that?” Harry asked Draco.

“Well you only needed three of us to cast the spell – Ginny would have been in the way,” Draco explained with a shrug.

“Shouldn’t you let her out?” said Harry. “I want to see her!”

“I’ll go,” said Hermione. “She’s less likely to hex me. I’ll explain to her why Malfoy behaved like such a prat.”

“Ta, Granger,” said Draco.

“You might want to hide before she gets here,” said Ron with a smirk in Draco’s direction.

“Well,” said Madam Pomfrey, turning toward them, “I can’t find anything physically wrong with him except that he’s extremely fatigued. He needs rest! Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

“No!” Harry protested. “I want to know RIGHT NOW what happened back there. Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry vaguely thought he should be angry with his friends for leaving him out of their plans, especially when they revolved around him, but he was having trouble feeling any emotion at all, and was only demanding answers because he knew it was expected of him.

“Yes,” Remus agreed. “I’d like to hear this, too. You didn’t tell Harry?”

“We couldn’t!” said Ron, shooting Harry an apologetic look. “The Legilimency and all – Voldemort would have known.”

“Harry had to believe,” Draco swallowed, “that I was betraying him. It was crucial to the plan.”

“But how did you know when? And where?” Remus asked Draco.

Draco sighed heavily. “My father tried to put me under the Imperius Curse right after he escaped from Azkaban. It’s a good thing Shacklebolt had taught the D.A. members how to fight it off, or …” Draco swallowed again.

“You said you didn’t see your father last summer,” Harry accused.

“I lied,” said Draco, looking at him apologetically. “I’m sorry about that, but I couldn’t tell you. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do yet, and you had just told me the Dark Lord could sense your emotions. As soon as you told me that, I knew I would have to hide everything from you.” Harry nodded and tried to glare at Draco, but it had no emotion behind it.

“Anyway,” Draco continued, looking away from Harry as if the glare pained him, “I had been ordered to take Harry to the Dark Lord, so naturally I was notified of the time and place. I persuaded Harry to go. Weasley and Granger had already taken an extended version of the Polyjuice Potion that Granger had developed, so they were already there.”

“Who were they disguised as?” asked Remus.

“My mother and Professor Snape.”

“Oh, Severus will love that,” said Remus.

“He knows,” said Draco. “I needed him to keep my mother out of the way.”

“And we needed a strand of his greasy hair,” said Ron with his nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Severus didn’t try to stop you?” asked Remus, surprised.

“He couldn’t,” said Draco. “It was too late. Besides, it would have given him away if he had refused to let me go.”

“I would have tried to stop you,” said Remus.

“I know,” Draco said softly. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t, though?”

Remus, apparently ignoring Draco’s question asked, “Where’s your mother now?”

Draco’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “Snape’s got her locked in his quarters,” he said, looking at the ground as if he was struggling to keep his emotions under control. “I’ve got to go and tell her about my father,” he said in an almost inaudible voice.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” said Harry, hoping it sounded sincere.

“No, you’re not,” said Draco, looking straight into Harry’s eyes, “but I understand.”

“What happened to him?” Remus asked in a quiet tone, as if he had guessed.

“Voldemort killed Lucius Malfoy,” said Ron, “but not before the old bastard got a mean curse in on Voldemort!”

Remus’s eyes widened in surprise. “Your father was helping you?” he asked Draco.

Draco swallowed and looked away. “No,” he whispered, “it was only self defence.”

“I’m sorry Draco,” said Remus, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Draco’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as he glanced at the hand on his shoulder, but he made no move to shrug it off. “Yeah, well, it would have been a bit awkward if he had lived, I suppose. I just wish …” He gave a heavy sigh and shrugged. “Never mind.”

“Harry!” screamed Ginny’s voice from the door, and Harry struggled to sit up as she ran toward him. “Harry!” she said again as she flung her arms around him.

“Ginny,” Harry whispered as if saying a prayer. His arms went slowly around her, and suddenly his heart began to feel as if it was filling his chest, crowding out the emptiness that had been there before. “Ginny,” he whispered into her hair, hoping she understood, since that was all he could manage. He clung to her, afraid he would slip back into the aching void of no emotions if he let go. After several moments she shifted around without pulling out of his arms so she could sit beside him on the bed.

Harry barely listened while Ron and Hermione told Remus the rest of the story. He just sat there, clinging to Ginny and revelling in the love he was feeling for her. He felt as if his heart had only just begun beating again, and emotions filled his body as if blood was slowly returning to his limbs.

After a while, Harry realized Draco had been silent for some time. The Slytherin was sitting in a chair, looking at the ground as if he would find the answer to a puzzle there. Even though he had hated Lucius Malfoy, Harry felt badly for Draco, imagining that Draco’s grief was similar to Harry’s when he had lost Sirius.

Suddenly Draco’s attention snapped to Remus, who was saying, “I could have sworn I saw an illegal magic carpet flying toward the castle during the battle.”

“You must have been mistaken,” said Draco with a shrug.

Remus raised his eyebrows in obvious disbelief.

“Wait a minute!” said Harry as he realized exactly what Remus had said. “What battle?”

As if in answer, Professor McGonagall burst into the room, levitating an obviously unconscious Ernie Macmillan in front of her. “I think it was just a Stunning Spell,” she said as Madam Pomfrey rushed over, “but it looks like he hit his head on something when he fell.”

“Are there others?” asked the nurse.

“Yes,” said McGonagall. “Arthur and Hestia are tending to some outside, but Ernie appeared to be the worst … at least the worst of the injured.”

“Is it over?” asked Remus, taking a few steps toward McGonagall.

“Almost. Kingsley, Molly, and some of the others are rounding up the last of the Death Eaters.” McGonagall seemed to suddenly realize Harry was in the room and her eyes widened. “Harry?” she asked in a hushed tone.

“It’s done,” said Remus, “and Harry seems to be okay.”

Harry thought about that as they continued to discuss the battle. Everyone seemed to think he was okay. Was he okay? He tightened his grip slightly on Ginny and she turned to him with a smile. Maybe he would be okay as long as Ginny never left his side again.

**************************************

Harry hardly noticed the clear blue sky and sparkling sunshine that were more reminiscent of spring than late autumn. If he had, he might have been annoyed that the weather chose to seem joyous on such a solemn occasion. Only the biting, chill breeze testified that November would soon close and winter was almost upon them.

He crossed the lawn silently, flanked by Ginny and Draco and followed closely by Ron and Hermione. It seemed that Draco had hardly left his side in the weeks since Halloween, much to Ginny’s chagrin, but Harry had persuaded her to tolerate his presence. Not only had Draco’s father been killed, but after the Battle of Hogwarts he had found himself living alone in the seventh year Slytherin boys’ dormitory. Draco never talked about it, never expressed emotion about the people he had lost, but Harry suspected that he drew comfort from the mere presence of his new friends.

The quietly murmuring crowd silenced completely as the five friends made their way to the make-shift stage next to the newly built monument near the lake. Harry could feel all eyes upon him, but he kept his gaze on the ground as they took their seats opposite the stone monolith.

As soon as they were seated, Professor Dumbledore struggled from his chair and made his way awkwardly to the podium. Hogwarts’ wards had been reactivated as soon as the Death Eaters had been defeated early on the first of November, but Dumbledore had remained unconscious for almost two weeks afterwards. It seemed that the headmaster’s ordeal with the wards had permanently affected his health, and Harry knew that he had secretly transferred his physical link with the wards to Professor McGonagall soon after he had awakened. Harry feared that Dumbledore was anticipating not only his retirement and McGonagall’s subsequent appointment to the headmaster position, but also his own death.

Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled as he smiled benignly over the crowd, however, and at that moment Harry found it hard to believe that the powerful man would ever die.

“Today is a celebration,” Dumbledore began, his voice requiring no amplification. “The threat has been destroyed, and the war has ended. This war has been unique in that Hogwarts students have distinguished themselves in unprecedented ways, and we are gathered here today to honour them. We will begin by the dedication of this memorial to those students who lost their lives in this war.”

The headmaster paused for a moment to pull a small roll of parchment from his pocket, and Harry reflected with satisfaction that his opening remarks had been brief and to the point. Harry’s insistence that Cedric Diggory’s name be listed first on the monument to the deceased students had apparently cooled Minister Diggory’s resentment toward him, and Harry had found himself in a position to influence the agenda of today’s ceremony.

The faces drifted through Harry’s mind as Dumbledore read the names, and he bit his lip in an effort to keep his composure. A similar monument would be erected in the new Ministry building as soon as it was rebuilt, and the plans for it had been revealed in a dedication ceremony the week before. The first name listed on the other monument would be Sirius Black.

Harry was startled by the applause and realized that Dumbledore was hobbling toward his chair, apparently finished with his remarks. Harry belatedly joined in the clapping, a bit annoyed with himself for letting his mind wander.

Minister Diggory rose and strode purposefully to the podium to award the Order of Merlin to no less than twenty Hogwarts students. The Minister had wanted to award Harry’s Order of Merlin, First Class, in a separate ceremony with much pomp and press, but Harry had threatened to refuse the award altogether if his friends weren’t honoured with him. The first three were awarded posthumously.

Seamus Finnigan. Harry drew in a sharp breath as the pain of losing his dorm mate hit once again. Seamus had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts alongside Neville and Dean, who had refused to discuss the battle, revealing only that Seamus had been hit with a Killing Curse from Vincent Crabbe. The friends had been collectively dubbed the “Gryffindor Three” because someone had happened to snap a photograph of them leading the students into the battle with their wands drawn. The photograph had appeared in the Daily Prophet the next day and had circulated to almost every major wizarding newspaper around the world, becoming an icon of the final battle.

Gregory Goyle. Goyle had surprised everyone by insisting on fighting to defend Hogwarts against the Death Eaters, and had also been felled by Vincent Crabbe, his former best friend.

Blaise Zabini. The Head Boy had been the one to lead the Defence Association students to Professor McGonagall, insisting that those who were of age be allowed to fight. No one seemed to know exactly how Zabini had died, but it was presumed that he had killed the two Death Eaters who had been found near his body.

The other Order of Merlin recipients met Minister Diggory at the podium as they were called. Harry couldn’t help a small feeling of pride as he listened to the Minster list the contributions of the Defence Association members he had trained. It was noted that Ginny Weasley, at sixteen years of age, was the youngest recipient in history. She received the Order of Merlin for her part in protecting Harry from Voldemort on the train at the end of his sixth year.

Finally, after Ron, Hermione, and Draco were each awarded an Order of Merlin for their part in conquering Voldemort, Harry was called to the podium. He forced himself to smile slightly and look at the audience as they applauded wildly, resisting a strong urge to bolt from the stage. The parents of Muggle-born students had been allowed on Hogwarts’ grounds for this ceremony, and Harry’s gaze rested for a moment on Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Hermione hadn’t been exactly forthcoming about the war to her parents for fear that they wouldn’t allow her to return to Hogwarts, and Harry noticed their expressions were somewhat bemused.

Fleur Delacour’s shining hair caught Harry’s attention and his heart warmed as he saw how her hand rested familiarly, almost protectively on Bill Weasley’s back. Bill was leaning heavily on a cane; he had almost lost his left leg when he had led the assault that had liberated Gringotts from Death Eater control. Harry was looking forward to attending this generation’s first Weasley wedding on Christmas Day, and sometimes couldn’t help wondering if his two best friends would be following soon after.

Harry’s eyes travelled down the row of Weasleys and widened as they fell on Remus and he realized the identity of the woman next to him. Petunia Dursley was clapping politely and Harry was shocked to see a look of pride in her eyes. Harry had not spoken to his aunt since his uncle’s death and wondered at the transformation. He made a mental note to interrogate Remus about her as soon as he had the opportunity.

Finally the applause quieted and Harry pulled a small roll of parchment from his pocket. The speech Remus had helped him prepare had completely left his mind, so he was extremely glad that Remus had insisted he transcribe it.

He took a deep breath and began, his voice wavering only slightly as he read from the parchment. He greeted everyone, thanked the Minister for the award, and acknowledged by name those who had committed to defend him with the Trilixicis Charm, though he omitted details about the charm itself. It also seemed appropriate to thank Professors Dumbledore, Flitwick, and Snape for helping him to vanquish the Dark Lord, even though he hoped the specifics of what they had done for him would never be publicly known.

Harry paused and laid the parchment down on the podium, gazing over the audience for a long moment. For some reason his eyes rested on Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, both beaming up at him like proud parents, and their apparent confidence in him bolstered his courage.

“As much as I appreciate your acknowledgement of my part in this war, I don’t think I’m being too modest when I say that I don’t believe I am the true hero here today. This fate wasn’t my choice – it chose me. I believe that the true heroes are the ones who chose to protect my life or to defend this school. Each of these other Order of Merlin recipients chose to risk their lives out of love for me and love for this school, some at great personal sacrifice. A few paid with their lives.”

Harry’s gaze drifted to Seamus’s mother, whom he had spoken with earlier in the day. She was tearless and grim, and though her expression made Harry ache for her pain, it also strengthened his determination to finish his speech.

“I hope this monument will remind all future Hogwarts students of what was lost because of hate, and that it will encourage them to choose love and peace. I also hope that they will remember that anyone can make a difference, even a student.”

Harry acknowledged his audience with a nod and hurried from the podium as they applauded him once again. He smiled at his four closest friends as he took his seat: two who had been with him from the beginning, one who had always been loyal to him, even when he didn’t realize it, and one who had chosen friendship over family when it had really mattered. As Ginny squeezed his hand firmly and he turned to smile at her, it occurred to him that the hope conveyed by the spring-like weather had been perfectly appropriate to the ceremony.

THE END


End file.
